


Moreau-Walter Amalgamated

by aksarah



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 48,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aksarah/pseuds/aksarah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"On the day that Col. Peter A Walter married Delilah Moreau, Thaddeus Becile vowed to destroy their happiness, even if it meant hurting the woman he loved..." The Moreau-Walter family - wealthy, renowned, prolific, and totally dysfunctional. When tragedy strikes, the word 'function' no longer applies at all and Lilah Moreau-Walter has to learn to live with the consequences of her family's never-ending feud with the Beciles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

 Prelude

On the day that Col. Peter A Walter married Delilah Moreau, Thaddeus Becile vowed to destroy their happiness, even if it meant hurting the woman he loved. Fortunately for her, Delilah was not only a formidable scientist, weidling an outstandingly powerful knowledge of chemistry, her new husband was a genius roboticist. Between the two of them, and with the aid of their friends and colleagues at the Cavalcadium, they thwarted every attack Becile Industries threw at them. In 1907, only ten years after they were married, the two founded a company that would one day become the most renowned providers of medical diagnostic, assistive, and rehabilitation robotics in American history--Moreau-Walter Amalgamated.

The four robots that had been the key to wooing the music-loving Delilah to Peter’s side were considered part of the family, even after their creator produced his own children with his bride. Peter A Moreau-Walter was born in 1902, followed by a daughter, Daphne in 1906. In 1917, the United States declared war on Germany and the newly formed company was asked to assist in the war effort. Because the automatons had fought in the Weekend War in Africa, Peter thought that his “sons’” participation was not only patriotic, but wholly appropriate. His wife disagreed, and, although they loved each other very much, the two grew distant once the four robots were shipped overseas.

When they returned, shell-shocked and distressed, Delilah did her best to contain her rage and forced her husband to develop a way to suppress their terrible memories of the conflict. Though it was not one-hundred percent successful, his programming did help them to lead more normal lives. In 1930, just after her son was married, Delilah Moreau died in her sleep, having suffered a pulmonary embolism.

In 1938, Peter Walter was in failing health. His son, although raised with the automatons in the house, was not as close to them as his father and certainly mother had been. The automaton called Hatchworth began to malfunction, causing disturbances in the space-time continuum and Peter A Moreau-Walter quickly and decisively sealed him away in a vault far underneath the manor house for the safety of mankind. When the second World War swept America up into its chaos, without hesitation, this man signed the three remaining robots up for service and once again, but not for the last time, they suffered through horrific experiences.

Peter Moreau-Walter had married in 1930 Jane Wells-Blouch (1903-1979), a daughter of steel magnate Jasper Blouch. They had two children, Peter A Moreau-Walter II born 1932 and Katherine Wells Moreau-Walter born 1933, who was drowned at the age of fifteen in 1948 during a boating accident in Hawai’i. This was the story the world heard, but in truth she was drowned in the Pacific, far from Hawai’i as she was being rescued, having been kidnapped by agents of Becile Industries. It was the first major blow in what had already been a decades-long war between the two families. Katie had always been fond of the automatons and their music and had taken them with her on vacation to the Big Island. While they fought to get her back on the high-seas, Ignatius Becile’s youngest son, Bertram was also knocked overboard and drowned.

Just two years later, incensed by the loss of his son at the hands of the robots, Becile launched an attack directly on Moreau-Walter Amalgamated during which the robot called Rabbit’s power core was stolen from his chassis. Peter A Moreau-Walter I, his son II, and their assistant Roger Reed attempted to retrieve it. Peter I and Norman Becile were killed when Becile tried to crack it open to reveal its secrets. For twenty-four hours, people within a fifty-mile radius of the explosion suffered as their nightmares were made real. Peter II and Reed recovered from the nightmares, repaired and retrieved the core and returned home changed men. Young Reed’s hair turned white and Peter’s hands trembled so badly that he never worked again.

Peter A Moreau-Walter II married in 1946 Clara Notts Schemerhorn (1935-1989) (of the Manhattan Schemerhorns) and had two children, Peter A “Alex” Moreau-Walter III born 1947 and Dawn VanKleek Moreau-Walter born 1951. Peter II died a young man in 1959, unofficially of complications from alcoholism. His widow Clara and aunt Daphne declared war on Becile in the only way they knew how and enlisted an army of lawyers to bring Becile Industries to its knees financially. Their enemy was out of business (in America) by 1963. Daphne Moreau-Walter headed the family business from the time of her nephew’s death until she gladly handed the reins to her 18-year-old nephew Peter III in 1965. She then spent three years on a grand tour of the world. She never married or had any children. When Daphne returned she was devastated to learn that Peter III had been swayed by a large government contract to send the automatons once more to war. There was a large argument between the two heads of the family which was resolved by MWA’s board of directors who sided with Peter III. Daphne spent much of her remaining days in her suite of rooms, taking her meals there and refusing to see any visitors but her sister-in-law Mrs. Jane  Moreau-Walter, Mrs. Clara Moreau-Walter and the three automatons who visited her regularly. She died of heart failure in 1972, Jane passed in 1979 and Clara in 1989.

Dr. Alex Moreau-Walter (Peter III) married Eliza Ann Overbaugh in 1969. They had three children, Deliah Moreau-Walter in 1971, Peter A Moreau-Walter IV in 1973, and Deelia Moreau-Walter in 1977. Following Daphne’s death, Alex made and signed a pact that the singing automatons would never again be entered into an armed conflict as machines of war and had their weaponry permanently removed and their musical capabilities improved. At this time he also submitted his resignation from the Cavalcadium, ending generations of his family’s involvement with the organization. This caused quite a stir in the super-science community.

Alex’s sister, Dawn Moreau-Walter married for money in 1975 Richard J Plifterson and removed to New Pennsyltucky, knowing that her brother’s children would be the ones to inherit the family business. Known locally as Mrs. Dawn M Plifterson, she joined many charitable organizations such as the Daughters of the Yellow Columbine, The Plifterson City Ladies’ Benevolent Society (which she founded), Friends of Hensleigh Plantation, and Clean Air for All People (CAAP), for which she has helped raise millions of dollars.

Through the 1980’s, Moreau-Walter Amalgamated continued to be at the forefront of advances in medical robotic technology.


	2. Meet Lilah

**Friday, July 19th, 1991. San Diego, CA**

 

Steam escaped and gears wheezed for a few moments as Rabbit waited for a young woman to finish pouring a bright yellow liquid into an erlenmeyer flask. Standing in a long hall, he peeked in around a door-frame into a large laboratory in the basement of the Moreau-Walter family home in San Diego--a sprawling complex of labs below ground and gilded-age residential opulence above. Once she set the beaker down, he called quietly to her. “Miss Lilah?” Rabbit’s voice echoed off the lab walls. She grinned knowingly as she turned to face him.

With any other member of the Moreau-Walter family, Rabbit would have bounded in and pounced on them, perhaps on purpose, upsetting whatever work they were doing. But to Rabbit, Delilah Moreau-Walter was different. She was Pappy’s great-great-granddaughter and more so than anyone else who’d come before her, she was his spitting image. Her hair was short and blue-black and she wore it, perhaps purposefully, with the bangs long and they curled out the same way his had done. She was tall and lean, but her frame was rounder and softer on account of being a woman than Pappy’s had been. And what was more, even though she’d never met her second-great-grandfather, she had a few of the same mannerisms he exhibited. One of these presented itself to Rabbit as she faced him and planted her fists on her skinny hips with the elbows cocked forward just a little. “What can I do for you, Rabbit?” she asked. “Need a tune up?”

            The robot was dressed down in a plain pair of black bell-bottoms, a long-sleeved knit shirt and a red bandana over his copper skull. “Oh, no. N-not right now. Ya see, we got a show comin’ up...”

            Detecting that it would be a bit of a long conversation, Lilah took her gloves off, set them on the work table and walked toward the robot. “Yes, I know. A big show in at the stadium tomorrow with the Dollop-of-losers, was it?” she teased.

Rabbit made a face and raised a brow at the twenty-year old woman. “ _Lollapalooza_. It’s the name of the show, not a band.”

“Right, right. Are you ready?”

            “Well that’s just it, see, I... Well, The Jon and The Spine, they’re really nervous about it (the big babies) and I thought maybe if there was a familiar face in the audience they wouldn’t be so... _nervous_.” He blinked one eye then the other and pursed his lips.

            For a brief moment, the young woman clenched her teeth involuntarily, then took a deep breath. “Poor Jon and Spine,” Lilah sympathized. “I’m sure they’ll do just fine once the show starts. You’re all old pros at this, after all.”

            “Well, yeah...” Rabbit blew steam from his vents in frustration. “But it’s been so long since we played anything b-b-bigger than the park and I... I mean, Spine and The Jon they’re worried about how this new audience will like us. What if they _don’t_ like us? What if they _boo_ us!”

            Lilah put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure they will love you. The Steam Man Band wouldn’t have been asked to play this event otherwise, right?”

            “B-b-b-but...” he stammered and his shoulders slumped with a ringing crunch that made Lilah wince as he reached his tension’s breaking point. “Crud.”

            “Rabbit,” she said stepping away to get her tools. “You need to relax. It’s really not that big a deal.”

            “But it _is_!” he whined. “They say there’ll be thousands of people there! _Thousands_! They say there’ll be _moshing_.” He stressed the strange word as if it was synonymous with ‘murdering’ while pulling his shirt off over his head. He turned his back to her, knowing where he’d malfunctioned, and without being asked granted her silent permission to work on him. Delilah Moreau-Walter was also unlike any other member of her family in that she was the only one Rabbit allowed to repair him without argument.

            “I doubt very highly that people will be _moshing_ to _your_ music. I heard you’re going on first so the crowd probably won’t be crazy yet. Not that I know much about rock shows. That’s just what Patrick Reed told me yesterday.” Rabbit reached a hand around and pointed to the offending section, his left shoulder, and she removed the copper panel. Sure enough, a gear had slipped its track and a spring had unwound. “Better sit down for this one,” she said, sighing a little. He complied, shuffling his feet like a child who’d been scolded.

            “Sorry,” Rabbit said softly and took a seat on a lab stool. “Miss Lilah, I’m scared,” he admitted, looking up at her with his mismatched eyes. He was about to swing around to show her his back again but she squatted down in front of him and put her hand on his knee. She looked up at him with sympathy and patience and let out a slow breath.

            “And that’s _ok_ ,” she said, smiling. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll come to the show for you.”

            He straightened up and beamed at her. “You will? Oh! Thanks, Miss Lilah! Oh! Thanks!” He hugged her and the slipped gear ground loudly against other surrounding parts. They laughed together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There actually was a Lollapalooza in San Diego, July 20th 1991 at Devore Stadium. Really, really. I didn't see that tour until 1994, but I imagine that the Steam Man Band could have played something like the second stage first thing and been totally acceptable there.


	3. Lollapalooza

**Lollapalooza**

            “There you are,” Dr. Peter A Moreau-Walter III (or “Alex” as he liked to be called) said as he poked his head into his eldest girl’s lab and his eyes narrowed as he saw her toss her lab coat down the laundry shoot. He was tall and his brown hair was receding which he was clearly fighting the best he could. “You’re done for the day? What about the cardiac study?”

            Lilah froze. “Oh, gosh, Dad I forgot! See, Rabbit was just in here...” she said with smile which quickly fell when she saw the disappointed look on her father’s face.

            “No matter. We can work on it tomorrow.”

            She folded her arms nervously. “Uh, actually. I have plans tomorrow.”

            “Plans?” he practically shouted in surprise. “When do you have _plans_? Is it with a _boy_?”

            “No...”

            “Oh.” her father said, more disappointment in his voice. “Well, you can’t have plans anyway. We have work.”

            “But, Dad...”

            He frowned and folded his arms as well. “Do you like your title, Delilah?”

            “My title?” she asked, confused.

            “Vice President. I know that it’s new to you, but it means that you have responsibilities.”

            Lilah folded her arms tighter. “Dad, tomorrow is Saturday. Even the cleaning staff has off.”

            “You are not the cleaning staff. You are my assistant.”

            “I thought I was VP?” she snapped back.

            “Don’t be smart with me.”

            “Don’t do this to me right now.”

            “What? Remind you of what you are here to do?”

            “I’m going to the show tomorrow. The robots are nervous and they asked for my support.”

            “The show?” Alex raised his hand and extended two fingers. “They’ll be _fine_ and you hate crowds.”

            “I know, but...”

            “You care too much about them and not enough about your future, Delilah.”

            She thrust out her left hand and counted off on her own fingers as she made three points. “One: they’re my friends, two: it’s a Saturday, and three: it’s just right here in San Deigo. If you want, I’ll help you when I get back, it’s not even a late show!” A fourth finger was extended for that additional point. “I think they go on at four in the afternoon for chris’sake.”

            Alex rolled his eyes. “There’s no need to get defensive, Delilah.”

            “Really, Dad? You always back me into a corner when you try to talk to me about anything other than work. You assume that just because I’m a loser with no real friends...” She pursed her lips tightly, stormed through the wide doorway and down the hall toward the elevator. “I’ll see you _tomorrow_ ,” she said tersely as she passed him. He said nothing.

 

**Saturday, July 20th, 1991. Devore Stadium, San Diego, CA**

 

            Lilah didn’t get out much. Having been bullied by her peers in even the small, private school she had attended, she always felt more comfortable at home in the immense mansion her second great-grandfather built, especially in the subterranean laboratories and with her only real friends, three very special antique automatons. She had been raised on their music and camaraderie and when they started playing in Balboa Park, she sometimes went with them, but always sat at a safe distance from the throngs that gathered to watch their antics. 

            Today, she was glad that she was able to travel to the stadium with the band and enter from backstage, avoiding the masses until it was show time. The Spine loped around behind the curtain, getting his guitars in order as if this were no more special than a day in the park. The Jon danced around the drum set, annoying the band’s current drummer, Lenny Stevens, a thin brown-haired young man of twenty years, as he checked his setup. The din of hundreds of voices on the other side of the curtain grew as they approached showtime and Rabbit paced around first picking up his melodica and fiddling with it, then his accordion, then the melodica again. The sound of the crowd was getting quite loud and Lilah found it hard to keeping telling Rabbit not to be nervous when her own nerves were getting rattled thinking about having to stand among so many people. Fortunately, the band leader picked up the slack.

            “Rabbit,” Patrick Reed said, putting his hands on the automaton’s shoulders. “For chris’sakes relax. It’s just a show. You are built to do this, remember?” Reed stood at just an inch or so taller than the robot and looked down on him with a sympathetic twist to his brows. He had dark brown hair and eyes and the musician and engineer’s dedication to weight-lifting showed.

            “Pat’s right, Rabbit,” Lilah agreed. “This will be a piece of cake and when that audience cheers your joy receptors will peg the needle!”

            Rabbit grinned and looked a little sheepish. “And you’ll be in that audience, won’t you, Miss Lilah?”

            She took a deep breath. The copper plating that made up his face was twisted with worry. “I sure will.”

            Rabbit puffed out his chest, nodded to Reed and scooped up his accordion. Reed plugged his headset into its receiver and gave him a couple reassuring pats on the back.

            Lilah was tackled by The Jon who hugged her quickly then spun away toward his mandolin. The Spine tipped his hat to her and she hugged him anyway. Lastly, she hugged her unabashed favorite robot, Rabbit. He practically had to be pried off of her. “You’ll be fine!” she said. His green eye looked relieved and his blue one looked terrified and he nodded quickly in reply.

 

            Lilah found her way around to the front of the stage and into the audience which was large, but as she had hoped, not yet whipped into a pushy, smelly frenzy. She was glad that she had decided to wear all black--it hid the fact that she had relatively little fashion sense and made her slightly more comfortable in the diverse crowd. She also realized that people with all sorts of differently-colored hair abounded and her own unusual coloration fit right in. Never the less, a woman with a three-inch purple mohawk beside her stared hard at her for a while before tapping her on the shoulder.

            “What do you use on your hair?” the young woman asked.

            Lilah blinked up at her tried not to stare at a tattoo of flames on the shorn sides of her skull. “ _Use_...?”

            “The blue-black is really awesome. Catches the sun really cool.”

            “Thanks. It’s natural, actually.”

            The woman laughed. “Awesome.”

            Lilah breathed a sigh of relief and Patrick Reed’s voice came over the loudspeakers, announcing the “original singing automatons” that her great-great-grandfather had built. Her attention shifted to the stage as the curtain went up and the show started. At first, the crowd did not know what to make of them. Metal gleamed in the sun. Their boilers emitted small puffs of steam in the warm California air. The Steam Man Band began a typical set starting with “Clockwork Vaudeville” which got only a smattering of applause, then picked up the pace with “Steamboat Shenanigans”. The audience stood almost motionless for the first two minutes but soon pressed in tighter and tapped their feet and swayed to the old-timey-sounding tunes. Lilah looked around and saw the most hardened, tattooed, facially-pierced attendees smiling and nodding their heads to the robot beat and she beamed with pride.

The band had decided to forgo the usual skits and get straight to the songs due to the nature of the show. After Steamboat, The Spine spoke and thanked them for coming to see them as he tuned his guitar for the next song. Lenny tapped his cymbal and Reed plucked out the first motif of “Automatonic Electronic Harmonics” when three people dressed in black wearing black gas masks leapt up onto the stage, each hurling something toward the robots as the did. Smoke bombs exploded and huge clouds of thick green smoke blocked the stage from sight.

            Lilah’s heart went into her stomach then fought its way into her throat as the scene played out seemingly in slow motion. The crowd panicked and as it fled she fought her way toward the stage, swimming against the current of human bodies. The Jon’s wailing drowned out much of what anyone else said over the loudspeakers but she heard Rabbit cry out “Help! Miss Lilah! Hel-” before he was silenced. The Jon’s wailing cut out next then The Spine could be heard saying “Run, Lenny! Patrick! Run and get...” before he too went quiet behind the curtain of smoke.

            “Lilah get out of here!” came Patrick Reed’s voice over the speakers. Too late. As Lilah tried to approach she was pushed to the ground and trampled.

 

When she regained her senses the shouting crowd was replaced with the whine of sirens. She was being barked at by a large man in a blue EMT uniform who was asking her what her name was.

“The bots! Lenny! Patrick!” she cried as she realized where she was and tried to sit up. Pain screamed from her left shoulder and she noticed that it was not at all in the position it should be. Her breathing quickened in response to a flood of adrenaline and her eyes shot to the stage. There were police talking to Patrick Reed and the forms of the three robots lay prone on the stage around him. Grasping the EMT by the shirt with her left hand, she performed a sort of self-Kocher's method to reset the joint using his bulk for balance then sprang to her feet and dashed to the stage, pulling a folded multi-tool from her pocket as she went. Security guards shouted after her but she made it to Patrick Reed who called them off. He took her right arm and pulled her up onto the surface of the stage and before she could ask, she saw them.

            Their eyes were closed. They lay on their backs--probably placed that way by Reed. Lenny the drummer sat near him with his head on his folded arms over his knees. Reed started to explain that he hadn’t seen what happened and the police were being terrible--treating them like damaged property. Lilah heard him but didn’t seem to register it as she walked slowly toward the closest robot--her favorite. Dropping to her knees before him she feverishly opened his vest and started removing the copper plating with her multi-tool. Once the chest plate was off and clattered to the floor she gasped at the sight before her.

            “It’s gone,” she said.

            “The core?” Reed shouted.

            “No. The core is here. The Matter is gone,” she said, her voice tremulous. She scrambled to her feet and checked The Spine then The Jon and found the same situation. The crystal core was there, intact, sealed away inside their chests, vacant of a hint of Blue Matter. Turning to look back at Reed and Lenny, Delilah Moreau-Walter started to shake and only just made it to the edge of the stage before she vomited. When she had finished, she rocked back onto her folded legs and stared at the sky. Reed’s touch on her shoulder shocked her but she acquiesced to the hug he wanted to give her. Her wounded shoulder throbbed in agony but it hardly seemed to matter.

            “They’re dead, Patrick.”

            “I sent Lenny to call the manor for backup. We’ll need help. Are you ok?” he asked, passing her a bottle of water.

            She grasped it with both hands but found that lifting her left arm was near impossible. “I was hurt in the press.”

            “You need an ambulance.”

            “No, I’ll be alright.”

            “ _Yes, you do_ ,” he said firmly. “There’s nothing...” Reed started. He didn’t want to say it. “There’s nothing you can do here. Go get checked on, please?” When she nodded, Reed called out for one of many EMTs on the scene helping other people who were trampled to come and help her.

            The young woman stared out the scene before her. Dozens of young people were being attended to by EMTs. Police and event staff were everywhere. Emergency vehicles' lights flashed and sirens wailed and the music was decidedly silenced for the day. “Did you see them--the three who threw the smoke bombs?” she asked.

            “No, did you?”

            Lilah nodded. “They had green hair.”

            “Green... Like the color of the smoke. Like...”

            “It can only be. It can _only_ be _their_ work. They did this. They’ve done it _again_. Why, Patrick? Why kill them? Why can’t they just let this end!” she growled angrily.

            “I don’t know,” he said quietly, releasing Lilah to the same EMT she had earlier used as a shoulder-reset who jumped up onto the stage and scolded her. Her eyes were not focusing on anything but still dry as shock set in. Once she was in good hands, Reed turned away and broke down.

 

.x.

Three robots lay on three exam tables in the largest of the robotics labs in the extensive basement of the manor house. Their empty power cores had been removed and sat next to each prone figure, but other than extensive testing, nothing else had been done to try to repair them. Alex Moreau-Walter had decided not to proceed with any course of action before his eldest returned from the hospital. His son Peter and Patrick Reed stood nearby, waiting for the prognosis.

            “No good,” he said simply, shrugging. “They’re kaput.”

            Eighteen-year-old Peter stared at the broken robots silently and twenty-six-year-old Reed stifled an irritated scoff and rubbed his hand over his face. He jumped a little as a sleek, silver telephone on the wall nearby rang with a loud electronic chime. Alex nodded to him and he picked it up. “Reed,” he said in greeting. “She is? Good. We’ll be right up.”

            “Send her down here,” Alex said forcefully.

            “Send her...? Hold on a sec.” He cupped the cordless phone to his chest. “Sir, she just go back from the hospital and we don’t know if...”

            Peter’s black eyes looked from Reed to his father, but he said nothing.

            “If she’s been released, she’s well enough to walk. Send her down here.”

            Reed took a calming breath before putting the receiver back to his face. “Dr. Moreau-Walter would like his daughter to join us in Lab One. Yes. _Yes_. Thank you. She’ll be right down,” he said and pressed the ‘end’ button.

            Peter slumped his wiry frame onto a stool and folded his arms. “Dad, I could have...”

            “We’ve been over this, Peter. This is as much her responsibility as yours. Delilah must be included in whatever decision we make.”

 

            They didn’t have long to wait as a soft ping sounded indicating the elevator doors had opened and quick footsteps were heard approaching the lab.

            Lilah appeared disheveled, her hair sticking out in all the wrong directions. Her black tee-shirt and black jeans from the day before were visibly dirty. Her left arm rested in a sling around her neck. “News?” she asked flatly and ran her right hand through her hair. There were large circles under her blue eyes.

            “No change,” Reed said softly.

            “Plans?” she asked, pulling up a stool next to her younger brother.

            “None.”

            “What?” she spat. “What about Becile?”

            “What about them?” her father spat back. “What’s done is done. We were waiting for you to add your input about the robots, not about those lunatics.”

            “Do you mean we’re just going to let them get away with this?” Lilah shouted. Peter hunched his shoulders as if the sound of her voice hurt him.

            Alex squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as if a headache were coming on. “We cannot retaliate against...”

            “Why not? They killed them, Dad!” She looked to Reed who seemed to want to agree but didn’t dare defy his employer and then to her brother who looked to the floor for sanctuary. “If we do nothing...!”

            “If we do _anything_ , this will keep going _forever_!” Alex shouted. “When I was a baby, my aunt Katie was kidnapped and drowned. They lost one of their own at the same time. In the 1950 incident we lost my grandfather and they lost another one of theirs. This time we were lucky it was just the robots.”

            Lilah gasped and gripped the lip of her stool as if to keep from falling off of it. “What did you say? It was _just_ the _robots_? Wh-what does that mean! They are our family!”

            “I mean that no Beciles were killed and none of our flesh-and-blood family was killed so perhaps, daughter of mine who was present when this went down, perhaps, this ridiculous tit-for-tat will _end here_!” Alex took a deep calming breath and smoothed back his comb-over which had gone a bit wild. “We have never retaliated against Becile. They have always come for _us_ and they’ve come _back_ because they’ve lost lives on their side. It could be done, now. We could be safe, _forever_.”

            Lilah was enraged but it was clear that his words reached her. She stewed in her seat, her face flushed, eyes focused on her father’s feet.

            “And so, your brother, Mr. Reed and I have come to the conclusion that we should insert new power cores into the robots and get them operational to further show Becile that we are resilient and that the war is over. What do you think?”

            Lilah lifted her head with a perplexed look. “New cores? In their bodies? No. You can’t.”

            “Delilah,” Alex began. “I know how attached you were to them, but...”

            “It doesn’t matter about how I feel,” she said, shaking. “Their cores are their souls. You can’t expect them to be themselves with new ones.”

            “I didn’t say that I did.”

            “That’s even worse, Dad! Don’t you get it?” she shouted hysterically, spit flying from her mouth as she gestured to her brother. “Imagine if Pete died and you found a new soul for his body. The new soul would have to deal with your sorrow every time you saw him and missed your son. The new soul would be constantly reminded that it was supposed to be someone else. That’s not fair; not fair to the new souls, not fair to the robots’ memory and not fair to us, either!”

            An awkward silence fell over the room. Patrick Reed startled them as he suggested  “what if you’re wrong?”

            Lilah raised a brow. “What?”

            “What if, now, bear with me, I’m a scientist, not a magician. What if when we install the new Blue Matter cores they somehow link up to the robots’ memories and they come back to us. We’ve never done this before so you can’t rule something like that out.”

            The young woman looked as if she wanted to tear his head off. “Damn it, Patrick! No! You can’t have hope!”

            “I do, though, Lilah! They were my friends! I want to believe that we have a chance to get them back!”

            She turned on her father next. “You put this idea in his head, didn’t you? Shame! Shame on you! It’s not possible!”

            “I didn’t,” Alex said quietly. “Peter did.”

            The young man folded his arms tighter and seemed to sink closer to the floor as attention was turned on him. “I’m sorry, Lilah. I didn’t mean to...”

            They were all shocked that rather than start screaming again, Lilah clapped a hand to her mouth and tears flowed over it. “Damn it. I can’t have any hope. It’s not going to work. It’s not going to be them and if we bring them online and it’s not them... I feel like I might just _die_!”

            Her father, not one for sentimentality, stood where he was. “Then what do you propose we do?”

            It took a moment for her to compose herself. “Well, according to Peter Walter, when you bring a matter core into wakefulness, it impresses immediately, like a baby duck.”

            “Right.”

            “So if it’s not them (and it won’t be), they’ll begin sentience from the point of wakefulness,” she stated, remembering her great-great-grandfather’s notes. “If you offline them for any length of time, you run risk of deviation and madness should you try a reinstallation years later, as was the case with the Butler incident.”

            “Correct,” Alex agreed, pressing his index finger to his lips in thought. “So, here’s a thing. If you are correct and the new cores do not bring their consciousnesses back, do you think that if we had permanent bodies prepared ahead of time into which we could switch the cores in a matter of moments after wakefulness, that a bad impression would be avoided?”

            She thought for a second, eyes flicking back and forth a little as if reading notes no one else could see. “Yes.”

            Alex clapped his hands once, his brilliant mind spinning into action. “Good. Reed, Peter, see to the new medi-bots we’ve been working on. Get them ready for Blue Matter insertion as soon as possible.”

            Peter leapt off the stool and quickly headed to medical robot lab, making no eye contact with anyone on his way out. Patrick Reed nodded.

            “Delilah, you and I shall work on a third robot. Perhaps an assistive? Shouldn’t be too much trouble if it doesn’t need the bells and whistles that medi-bots One and Two have.”

            “Ok,” she said softly.

Reed put a hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him through tired eyes. “You remember to take care of yourself, too,” he advised and she nodded almost imperceptibly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there, baby. I promise it'll be worth it.


	4. Dysfunction Junction

**Moreau-Walter Amalgamated**

**Dysfunction Junction**

 

**Saturday, July 27th, 1991**

 

One week after the Lollapalooza incident, the Moreau-Walter family became accustomed to the new silence in the manor. Peter, Alex, Patrick Reed and Lilah were seldom seen, spending most of their waking hours in the labs preparing the new robots, should their experiment fail.

            One and Two had been due to come online soon and their projects were merely sped up.  They were given the appropriate medical designations “Ether” and “Salve”. Most of the build was done and final checks were being performed. Ether was a tall, grey robot with a blank, featureless faceplate that was designed to be a roving diagnostic center, able to collect medical samples and readings. Salve was shorter and designed to administer first-aid on a variety of levels. It had a brushed stainless steel chassis and a round, friendly-looking face. Unlike normal medical equipment, the medi-bots would be able to interact and adapt to any situation with the aid of Blue Matter cores to give them the spark of artificial intelligence Peter A. Walter developed almost a century before.

A third new robot named “Pi” was being constructed from the ground-up in one week’s time by Lilah and Alex. Pi was shorter yet than Salve at about five foot five and given the most life-like features such as a fully-articulated face and hands and the smoothest gyros for fluidity of movement. When Pi came online, except for the obviousness of its electrostatically-applied blue painted exterior, it would seem very human in mannerism. All three robots, unlike their late, nineteenth-century brothers, were not steam-powered. Instead, Alex had routed the Blue Matter output to alternating current.

 

            It was rare in this time to catch sight of Lilah Moreau-Walter so when her younger sister found her sitting at the breakfast nook in the family kitchen Saturday morning she did a double-take. Lilah was only twenty years old, but looked like an old woman as she sat hunkered over a half-eaten and soggy bowl of cereal. Her head was in both of her hands over this and a tall cup of coffee had grown cold at her right elbow.

            “Lilah?” the fifteen-year-old asked.

            Lilah raised her head slightly and looked to her left. “Deelia,” she said in voice rough like a phonograph recording. She wore black cotton slacks and a fairly grimy t-shirt which hung off of her and made her appear even thinner than she had become.

            Deelia Moreau-Walter was dressed in a short, pleated skirt with pink and blue flowers on a black background. Tucked into this was a white button-down shirt. The collar was open, unbuttoned to the second button and pulled up to her neck so that it billowed at her lower back. Her pale blue hair was cut to shoulder-length and pinned back with a headband. “You look like crap,” she said, taking a seat next to her.

            “Gee. Thanks,” Lilah answered leaning back in her chair. “Nice to see you, too.”

            “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

            “Six days, actually.”

            “Whatever.”

            “I’ve been busy, Deelie.”

            “I know that,” the girl replied, annoyed. “It sucks what happened.”

            Lilah almost scoffed. “Yes, that it does.”

            Deelia scuffed a loafered foot across the floor idly. “But Pete says we’ll have new robots soon so that’s good, right?”

            The older girl closed her eyes tightly. “Sure.” She pushed the chair back and grasped her coffee mug; a tall, silver travel mug with the Moreau-Walter Amalgamated logo on it. “It’s been swell talking to you, but I have to get back to work.”

            “You didn’t even eat breakfast.”

            “Breakfast?” Lilah asked, stood and looked to the clock on the wall. “Oh,” she laughed lightly. “That was dinner, actually. Good morning. Have a nice day with your… whatever nice thing you’re doing today.”

            “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m just saying you haven’t eaten anything. Mom’s a wreck over you, you know!”

“Oh, I know. She told me as much herself,” Lilah said without a hint of mirth in her voice as she walked slowly to the doorway. “Her solution was that I should go out on a date with Patrick. Isn’t that a hoot?”

“Well, maybe you should! He’s in love with you.”

This got a laugh. “I know. Poor fool.”

Deelia leapt up out of her chair and balled her fists. “Why can’t you just do it! Maybe if you went out with him--went outside the house at all--you’d be happier! All you ever do is hang out with robots!”

Lilah stopped laughing and leaned against the doorframe. She leveled her blue eyes at her sister until they forced the younger girl to look away. “Whatever you do with your life, Deelie, do it for yourself. Don’t try to do it for someone else. Otherwise, you’ll just end up disappointing people.” And with that, she slipped out and down to the lab once more.

 

**Wednesday, July 31st, 1991**

 

            Lab One was quiet. All the preparations were done. Of the four humans in the room, not one made a sound for a few moments. On one side of a large, gunmetal-grey folding screen were three exam tables ratcheted at a forty-five degree angle, each with a bright, shining new robot body on it. On the other side, the three bodies of Col. Peter A Walter’s Steam Man Band lay clothed on similar tables at the same angle, waiting for the experiment to begin.

            As soon as Lilah entered the room and saw them lying there, she began to hyperventilate and had to sit down. Patrick Reed hovered over her and her father folded his arms. “You must be ready for this, Delilah,” he said plainly. “You must show no negative emotion when they go online or the impression will be...”

            “I know--Dad,” she huffed. “Give me--five--minutes.”

            He turned his back on her and pretended to be busy checking charts and going over his notes for the fiftieth time. Her brother rubbed his thumbs over and over and made little eye contact if any. “It’s ok, Lilah,” he said meekly. “The medi-bots are ready. It’ll be smooth. The transition. It’ll go quick, I mean. Over soon.”

            “I know,” she gently brushed Reed’s hands from her shoulders and stood. Her eyes were half-lidded and darkly circled. Her hair was limp and unwashed. She had thought to wear a lab coat and its crisp whiteness heavily contrasted her disheveled appearance. “I know. Ok,” she took a deep breath and her mouth settled into a dull, expressionless pout. “Let’s do this.”

 

            Peter, Reed and Lilah lined up before The Jon, The Spine and Rabbit’s bodies--ready. Alex directed them and observed readings from the monitoring devices attached to all six robots. He also presented three of his great-grandfather’s unused power cores to each of them from a gilded, blue-velvet-lined box. With a glowing, blue core held firmly in their gloved hands, each technician moved forward and the experiment commenced.

The core was nestled inside the housing and attached to the neural network. The clamps were secured, locks turned, gates closed and finally shielding placed over the housing. The technicians stepped away from the robots and Alex confirmed that the area was clear before throwing an impressive-looking switch to ignite the circuits of the near-century-old robots. Lastly, the techs returned and pressed two pressure points on each robot to boot them up.

            Lilah kept calm as she touched two hidden, flush buttons, one behind Rabbit’s left ear and another on his lower right chest. She breathed deeply and steadily, counting to three on each inhale and exhale. She never once looked at their faces as she performed her task and now as she stepped away again her eyes unfocused somewhere near Rabbit’s feet. The distinctive hum of their gears turning, of boilers boiling, filled the room and soon their photoreceptors were glowing once more.

 

            Everyone held their breath.

 

            “Hello, robots,” Alex addressed them, stepping forward from his position at the console and speaking in a voice that sounded as if he thought they were both deaf and foreign. “How are you feeling?” he boomed.

            “Hello?” said The Jon.

            “Feeling?” said The Spine.

            “Robots?” said Rabbit.

            Their voices sounded the same as everyone remembered, but that was to be expected. Voice patterns were more machinery than soul.

            “Do you know who we are?” Alex asked in a softer, graver tone.

            From their forty-five degree perch, they could see well enough, though they couldn’t move to get a better look. Reed and Alex had argued about whether or not to let them be able to move about. In the end it came down to a vote: two for, one against, one (Lilah) abstaining to restrain them. One never knew what might happen.

            “You?” asked The Spine. “No. There are four of you, correct?”

            “I do not know you. Do you know me?” asked The Jon.

            “I want to know you. I think. I’m not sure,” wondered Rabbit.

            Alex smiled widely, albeit falsely. “That’s alright. We’re testing you out at the moment. Bright, shining new chassis we’ve made for you are right behind the screen. Right now, my assistants will take you offline and in less than five minutes you’ll wake up again, ready to go! Assistants?” Peter and Reed stepped forward but Lilah hung back. “ _Assistants_?” Alex repeated. She took a staggering step forward and with trembling hands booted Rabbit’s body down and his mismatched eyes went grey for the last time.

            “Hang in there,” Reed hissed quietly to her as they performed the next step of the process--the one she had known she had to perform for the last week but now the crushing reality of it seemed to slow her down as if she were walking into a morgue to identify a loved one.

            “Right,” she said, shaking her head. The dull, emotionless look fell over her face again as she removed the core and all three of them walked around the barrier to the new robot bodies.

 

            When they were brought online, the robots were thankful that they were conscious again but as soon as it was clear that these were in fact totally different beings, Lilah’s legs gave out. Without a word, Patrick Reed scooped her up into his arms and rushed with her out of the lab. No one called after them.

 

            He lay her down on her bed in her suite. She was limp, but conscious. Her body shook and she panted lightly.

            “Jesus, Lilah. You weigh next to nothing. Have you been…?”

            “Please leave me…” she said at a whisper and brought her hands up to her face.

            “But I…”

            “I know, just please, _please_ leave me be, Pat!” she cried and drew in a racking breath.

            She _knew_. He frowned, briefly, gently touched her face then turned and did as she wanted. When the door clicked closed, Lilah let go and screamed in agony and grief until she thought she couldn’t possible cry anymore, then she cried again. And again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...hang in there, baby.


	5. Madness and Anger

            Lilah floated between consciousness in a sort of exhaustion- and stress-induced delirium. Her body was curled tightly on her unmade bed, facing away from the door. Having at last quieted after hours of weeping, her clothes felt heavy and her Doc Marten oxfords were like two huge iron boats tied to her feet. Pushing one shoe off with the other, she heard them thud to the ground as if they had fallen into a large, empty steel drum. She trembled, partly from lack of sleep but mostly due to not having eaten in a very long while. The last few bites of cereal had to have been more than twenty-four hours before. A shuffling sound from the other side of her bedroom door danced around the room as Patrick Reed stood up in the hallway. She thought she could hear him press against the door, listening for her cries. When he heard none, he stepped away slowly down the hall.

            Lilah scoffed. “How could he be in love with me? When have I ever shown him a hint of affection?”

            “Why wouldn’t he be? You’re w-w-wonderful!” Rabbit crowed. He was seated on the edge of her bed. The dim blue light cast from her alarm clock reflected off of his face and the goggles strapped to his hat as he smiled on her.

            “Am not,” she argued back. “All I do is hang around with robots. Deelie called it. It’s true. I didn’t even think to be interested in him. For all the time I spent with you, for all I know, maybe I was in love with _you_!”

            He laughed at this as if tickled pink. “Oh, no, Miss Lilah, you weren’t in love with me! That’s silly! I’m just a robut, you know that. And you’re so _young_. You’ll meet a nice guy one day who you’ll care for as much as he cares for you. Just ‘cause that guy wasn’t Mista Reed doesn’t make you a bad person!”

            “I know, I…” She looked away from his crooked smile in shame. “I wish I could have protected you. If I’d been more social, maybe I would have been closer to the stage, or even on it!”

            “Well, now, Miss Delilah, that’s putting an awful lot on your shoulders,” The Spine’s baritone said softly. “You couldn't have known what would happen, or prevented it yourself. We had Mr. Reed and Lenny there and still this happened. If you’d been any different than you are, maybe you wouldn’t have taken such good care of us. For example, I know a _certain robot_ who would be in terrible shape if it wasn’t for you. Besides, if you’d been closer,” he said, his brows arching, “perhaps you’d have been hurt much worse than you were.”

            Lilah pouted. “If I’d been a better assistant like Dad wants me to be, I wouldn’t have been there at all.”

            “Now,” The Spine scolded. “You are _not_ Alex. _Thankfully_ ,” he added under his breath. “You are _you_.”

            “Oh,” she said drawing a breath and raising her voice. “Oh, I _know_. I am reminded of that every day. Just being Delilah isn’t good enough for anyone. Dad wants me to be his clone, my brother wants me to be his role model, my mother wants me to be her little girl, my sister wants me to be her best friend and Pat wants me to be his girlfriend and for some reason I can’t be any of those things! I miss you guys,” she said, sobbing again. “I want to be with you…”

            “No you don’t,” The Jon said softly. “Life is so wonderful, Lilah! You should keep on living it.”

            “But it seems like every day, even before this, I kept having to explain myself to people--the people who supposedly love me. I’m always being asked to shoehorn myself into their idea of who I should be. I wish I could just go away.”

            “So go to Kazooland!” the gold-faced robot chimed. He spread his arms out wide as if he were advertising the place.

            She hiccuped a little and laughed softly. “Would if I could.”

            “You can go today, if you like.” The Jon leaned a bit closer and whispered, “Don’t tell Alex. There’s an open portal behind the mirror in my room. But take care! It opens into a different location every time it’s used. Stick your head in first and make sure there’s a clean landing and there are friendly people around. You don’t want to pop out somewhere in the middle of Lotsasand with nothing but desert as far as the eye can see,” he said, grimacing.

            “Ok…” Lilah blinked at him. “Then how do I get back?”

            “Minister of Portals, Biscuit Town. Tell him I sent you.” The Jon winked and she laughed again, softly, sadly.

            “I miss you guys so much,” she said, rubbing her eyes slowly. “You were the only ones who never wanted me to be someone other than who I was… my only friends… and you’re dead.”

            When she opened her eyes again, she knew they were gone. They were never there. They were always there. She wasn’t sure. “Jon, Spine,” Lilah whispered as sleep finally overtook her. “Rabbit. I miss you. I’m sorry.”

 

.x.

            Patrick Reed trudged down to the kitchen after he was certain he’d heard Lilah slough off her shoes and stop crying, at least, loudly. About three hours had passed since he deposited her on her bed and had tried one last time to reach out to her, but she pushed him away once more. Dejected, he entered the kitchen and sank into a chair at the table. Moments later, Alex joined him, taking two cans of Coors from the refrigerator and placing one before his assistant and cracking one open for himself. Reed nodded and followed suit.

            “How is she?” Alex asked after taking a draught of beer.

            “Dunno. Won’t talk to me.”

            “That’s surprising.”

            “Is it?” he asked, irritated.

            “She usually runs her mouth a blue streak about… things,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No matter. She’ll get over it.”

            “Will she? Are you really that blind, Alex?”

            He sat up straighter and frowned at Reed. “Pardon me?”

            “Sir,” Reed said, playing with the beer can tab. “Your daughter is an incredibly emotional girl. She took their loss so hard she nearly starved herself to death and she’s cried for the last three or four hours _straight_. Get over it? Not likely.”

            “Well,” Alex said resting the can on the table. “I think you don’t give her enough credit. She’s a Moreau-Walter. She knows what is expected of her.”

            Reed laughed darkly. “Yeah. She knows, alright.”

            “And just what are you insinuating, Mr. Reed?”

            “Nothing. Nothing at all,” he said, brought the can to his lips and took a long pull. “Where’s Pete?”

            Alex was in a bit of a snit and for a moment he debated whether he wanted to continue the conversation before answering. “With his mother and sister. They are on a congratulatory trip to the ice cream parlor.”

            “No kiddin’?”

            Alex slapped the table, causing his can to jump slightly. “Your tone is downright annoying, Reed! I wish you’d be straight with me!”

            “Alex, I’m pissed off,” he admitted and brought the half-empty can down heavily. “You have no damned clue how much your stoicism hurts your family and because Lilah is up there right now inconsolably screaming with grief I sort of blame _you_ for it.”

            Alex narrowed his eyes. “I see. Because she doesn’t care for you one whit somehow my failing as a father is to blame?”

            Reed rolled his head to the left and his eyes with it. “Now I…”

            “Now you listen to me, Reed,” Alex said, leaned toward him and whispered urgently. “I never wanted any damned children. I never wanted a family. I was content to work and create and accomplish my goals without a care in the world but my parents insisted I marry. Then my addle-pated wife insisted we _breed_ and I rather foolishly caved to her whim. She assured me (well before it was clear that her grip on sanity was tenuous at best) that I would have nothing to worry about. She would raise them and it wouldn’t matter if I wanted them or not, I would grow to love them and though I do, indeed, love them (or at least I think I do when my heart twists to see them suffer as they do) I will not, nay, cannot _raise_ them! I am a genius scientist and a failure of a father and don’t you think for one moment that isn’t thrown in my face every single day of my life.”

            When Alex had finished hissing angrily at Reed, the younger man blinked at him and sank a little lower in his seat.

            “So if you’re going to be angry, be angry. But for the love of God don’t be angry with me.” Alex folded his hands over his Coors. “I have that quite covered, thank you very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the scene with Alex and Reed is one of the favorite things I've written in a long time. I wish I could enact it on stage or something!
> 
> Oh, fun trivia. Reed's original name was William, not Patrick, but then I started dating a guy named William and it felt weird so I changed it ^_^;


	6. Lilah Fails at Saying Good-bye

**Kazooland, July 21st, 1991**

 

The crown prince of Asininia leaned against his folded arms on the rail of a balcony overlooking his great-grandfather’s kingdom. Out in the greenish-black haze a city sprawled, bursting at its borders like a bad can of potted meat. All of it would one day be his. He furrowed his brows and coughed softly. “Damned pollution,” he whispered. “One day, soon…” He pursed his lips, spun around and marched back into the castle, his cape billowing in his wake. He was of a stocky build but appeared healthy save the persistent cough. He was clean shaven and his reddish hair was cut short. His hairline receded from either side of a widow’s peak.

            “Mortimer!” a voice bellowed from somewhere far down the hallway. “ _Mortimer_!” One of the two people allowed to refer to him by his first name came into view as he rounded a corner a hundred feet away. “There you are, blast it. Come! They have returned!”

            Mortimer’s face sagged as he changed direction and followed the king and his entourage of four automaton lackeys billowing black smoke and one painfully thin human man who was trying to get the king's ear. “Right away, father.”

 

            The royal castle was crafted of black granite and stainless steel and towered above every other structure in the blackened landscape. Corpulent King Cedric stomped into the throne room--a cavernous, echoing chamber that looked like something out of a medieval parody film with its lone, huge throne, enormous tapestries on the walls, and meant-to-be-impressive banners hung from the ceiling. Three green-haired pale-skinned humans wearing long black coats knelt before them as they entered.

            “Your Highness,” their leader greeted their king. “We have returned, successful.”

            “Successful?” Cedric cried. “You have them? Those blasted robots are dead?”

            “As doornails, Sire.”

            Cedric grinned to split his face and clapped his hands three times. “Excellent! You will all be knighted! Show me, show me!”

            The leader nodded and the woman on his right passed him a steel case which he turned around, opened and presented to the royals. Mortimer leaned in to get a better look, knowing better than to step in front of his father. Inside, three smooth crystal spheres nestled in black velvet glowed with a tell-tale blue glow.

            “It worked! You see that, Mortimer! It worked!” Cedric laughed, slammed the lid closed and tucked the box under his arm. “Eustace, your capture method appears to have done the trick, good job, Son.” he praised the thin young man at his right arm. Eustace made a low bow and smirked at his brother. “Today, we will correct the mistake my father made forty years ago. When we are successful, Eustace, I have no doubt that your…” he paused and the left side of his mouth curved into a devilish grin. “... _special project_ will go forward smoothly. To the lab!”

            The three operatives bowed as Cedric Becile turned left and followed by his ever-present lackeys made for the labs. “Yes, father,” Mortimer said and waited to follow until he was left alone in the room. “Mother, forgive me,” he whispered. “For my thoughts are quite dark today. Darker than usual, anyway. I know it’s wrong to wish death on anyone, but...” He took a deep breath. “Perhaps nothing will happen. Nothing at all, but perhaps…” A coughing fit overtook him and he gasped for breath as he hurried to the labs.

 

**Earth, Thursday, August 1st, 1991**

 

            The glowing, blue background of Lilah’s LCD alarm clock was bright enough to make her squint to read it. Four-thirteen. Still dark. Quiet. She didn’t really remember what time she’d fallen asleep. It could have been yesterday. Her stomach growled and her face felt tight from the tears. It seemed safe now, they had stopped and didn’t leap immediately to her eyes as she rolled to the left and looked blearily to where she could have sworn she saw her friends sitting each in turn.

            Nothing there. Of course not. Lilah sat up and scratched her head. Her stomach growled again. Bathroom first, then food. Then sleep again. She nodded to herself and with bare feet quietly stumbled across the room to her private bathroom which she used in the dark.

 

“Food,” she whispered and crossed the room. The odd sound of her own voice forced a strange giggle to escape her lips and it startled her. She clapped a hand over her mouth and collected herself before slowly opening the bedroom door, looking both ways and heading to the kitchen. When she made it down, having stepped carefully and softly so as not to alert anyone to her presence, she almost ruined all the effort by laughing out loud at the sight of a dozen or so Coors cans scattered on the table and in the sink. “What the…?” she whispered and shook her head. “Must have been a party. Woo, new robots. Aren’t they wonderful?” Lilah mimed raising a glass then frowned. “Not woo. Not hardly. Where was I? Food. Right.” Rather than preparing a meal and eating it as normal, she grabbed a container of peanut butter and a box of granola bars from the pantry, found a loaf of white bread and a jar of jam in the refrigerator and put all of these with a knife into a large, plastic bowl and snuck back up to her room. She made and ate a sandwich while staring at the floor. Occasionally, she would chuckle to herself or shake her head. When she had finished she looked at the clock. Five-twelve. Still dark.

Her head swiveled around her room lit solely by the alarm clock and she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the back of her door. The image of her gaunt frame, hunched over, chewing the last bite of sandwich, hair askew caught her off-guard and she coughed as she choked a little. Lilah crawled to the reflection and her image grew darker as she got further from the alarm clock. “Oh,” she said, “that’s me,” and laughed again. She put a hand to the mirror and trembled. “Jon, you said… you said...” Suddenly, she scrambled to her feet and still trying to be quiet, hurried out of the room and down to the fourth floor where the robots had had their rooms.

 

Lilah closed the door behind her and flipped the light switch. The Jon’s room was, to put it mildly, terrifying. He had a love for clowns and circus-related objects and the large bedroom was jammed full of them. Huge faces, stuffed animals and signs loomed in every corner and Lilah had everything she could do in her delicate mental state to keep from screaming. Fortunately, the sleep she’d gotten and the peanut butter sandwich were doing much to repair her sanity and she kept it together fairly well.

“Mirror, mirror,” she said softly, trying not to look at any one object for too long. “Mirror, mi- there it is.”

Not surprisingly, the mirror was of the funhouse variety and her reflection stared back even taller and thinner than usual. Putting her hands on the frame she gave it a light tug and found that it wasn’t fastened to the wall. She paused and shook her head for a moment. “Whaddaya know. There’s a mirror, here, Jon. Let’s see what’s behind it, shall we?”

As she pulled the mirror back, the last residue of her delirium vanished. Behind this against the wall was a four-foot gaping, blacker-than-black void, the border of which glowed blue, swirling around and pulsing darkly. With horror and intense curiosity, Lilah extended her shaking hand and stuck it into the void.

            Shocked by the absolute truth of it, she yanked her hand back out and examined it for damage. It looked fine, felt fine. Next she placed her left hand firmly on the wall to the left of the portal and leaned her head in.

            When she opened her eyes, she saw a vast, green jungle, teeming with life. Massive animals and birds that defied description roamed the leafy environment and she remembered The Jon’s advice not to enter if there were no friendly people around. Lilah pulled her head back out into The Jon’s room and stared, mouth agape at the portal.

            “Thank you,” she said, gently pushing the mirror back in place. “Thank you, thank you!”

 

.x.

            It wasn’t until late morning that anyone realized she’d gone. Deelia Moreau-Walter ran down the stairs in her plaid pajamas and looked in every room she could think of then finally down to the lab where she found her father, brother and Patrick Reed working on the new robots. She burst into the lab, frantic and panting.

            “Deelia, what on Earth…?” her father said.

            “She’s gone!” Deelia shouted.

            “Lilah?” Reed gasped.

            “Yes! She’s gone, she left!”

            Alex’s shoulders slumped in slight relief--his initial fear was that ‘gone’ meant ‘dead’. “Where’s she gone to?” he demanded.

            The teen was crying and shaking slightly. “I dunno, she left this!” she said and thrust a VHS tape toward them.

            Patrick snatched it from her and ran out of the room. Deelia followed, shouting at him and Peter looked to his father for a beat before following her. “A message?” Alex whispered then turned to the three perplexed automatons behind him. “Robots, I’m sorry, we’re having a bit of a family emergency.”

            “Emergency? That is what we are programmed to handle,” Salve said smoothly. Ether raised its arms in a helpful gesture and said “Can we help?”

            “Not that kind of emergency, I’m afraid. Best to stay here for now. I’ll be back soon,” Alex said cheerily but his brows knitted together as he thought of the care his daughter had for the robots. He turned and looked them each in the face. “I promise,” he said.

The more humanoid of the three, the one he and Lilah had built together and he had named Pi gave him a thumbs-up and a head nod. “Ok, Alex. We’ll be here.”

Alex nodded back and rushed after the others.

 

.x.

            In the seldom-used family room on the second floor, Patrick Reed, Alex and Deelia hovered around the large television set against the wall opposite a couch and two overstuffed chairs. Deelia sat on her knees before the VHS player and put the tape in.

            “Don’t play it yet,” her father barked.

            “I’m not!” she snapped back. “It needs to be rewound!”

            Fortunately, the wait was short as Peter entered the room supporting the arm of a frail-looking middle-aged woman with blond hair wearing a bathrobe over her nightgown. “Alex!” she cried. “Is it true?”

            Alex nodded to his wife. “I’m sorry, Ellie.”

            She swooned and her son helped her to lie on the couch. Deelia frowned and hit play. Her sister’s face popped up larger than life on the screen, out of focus and close to the camera lense as she turned the recorder on. She walked backwards and sat on her bed, looking small and thin for being so far from the camera. Deelia turned the volume up and green bars on the screen ticked up as Lilah began speaking.

            “Hello. I’m sorry to do this to you but I’m leaving. Today. Now. When this over,” she said waving her hand toward the camera. “I need to go somewhere… else. Not here. Not where I’m reminded of…” she sat up straighter. “I’m going somewhere where you can’t find me, so don’t bother looking. And no, this is not a euphemism for suicide--I am _not_ taking my own life, life is too precious to… far too wonderful, and I still believe there is a reason I’m alive, I just don’t really know what that is. I do know that it’s not here. Not anymore. I’m making this message because I feel like you deserve it, though I can’t face you, any of you. I can’t be dissuaded and I don’t want to hear you scream at me and tell me I’m wrong,” Lilah said fairly angrily. “I’m sorry. My head isn’t quite together anymore, I don’t think. I need a break. I need to get away from here for a while. I’m not sure when if ever I’ll return. So I’m sorry. I have two very important things to mention before I go. First, you can use the footage I’m about to record for the media if you want.” She fidgeted to get comfortable and smoothed her hair which just popped right back into place, curling up and away from her face. “My name is Delilah Moreau-Walter and effective immediately I hereby resign from my position as Vice-President of Moreau-Walter Amalgamated. Due to a…” she said, choking a bit, “...an intense personal tragedy, I will be retiring from professional and personal life to attend to my mental well-being.” Even from as far away as she was from the camera it was clear that her eyes were tearing up. She paused, looked off to the left and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “That should do it so no one speculates that I offed myself. Just went crazy. Ha,” she laughed quickly and a little disturbingly. “The other important thing I need to impress upon you is that you retain the… bodies. They are great-great grandfather’s masterpieces and must never be destroyed. If not for posterity, then think about Hatchworth. If you are ever able to repair him, he would want to see them one last time, even as they are. I know it.” She patted her thighs with her hands. “Well, that’s about it. Take care.” Lilah nodded, stood up and approached the camera again and as she leaned in her face blurred out of focus and she whispered. “I’m sorry,” before stopping the recording.

Snow-static played on the screen. Deelia hit stop and the screen went to blue, displaying the time--6:23 AM. The television bathed the family members in a cool blue glow. Eliza Moreau-Walter sobbed softly, leaning against her son on the couch. He frowned at the television but was otherwise unmoved. Deelia ejected the tape and restrained herself from throwing it across the room. Patrick Reed sat down heavily in a chair, despondent that she didn’t once say “I love you,” or “I’ll miss you,” let alone say his name. “She’s really gone?”

Deelia nodded. “I went to her room and found the tape. I checked everywhere. She’s not here.”

Alex took a deep breath. “Well. That’s that, then,” he said coldly, pivoted and headed out of the room. Eliza sobbed louder and curled into her son, muttering apologies.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Mortimer. Ah, poor Mortimer. If there were a live action movie of this, he'd be played by Eric Stoltz. *sighs*


	7. Brigadier General Archibald Pottsworth

            A good number of people, all well-dressed, milled around on a promenade. The air smelled clean and the people looked friendly enough so Lilah nodded once and stepped through the void, pulling the fun-house mirror behind her so as to cover her get-away. They didn’t need to know she’d run away to another world. How would they possibly understand? Besides, they’d probably get lost or killed trying to look for her. Yes, this was the best option, she thought. As she stepped onto the wooden planks of the promenade the wind whipped her hair and white lab coat around and her stomach turned. The void behind her had closed and behind that was nothing but open sky. “This is a…?” she gasped and hurried to the rail. “What in the…?” Above, a huge balloon took up much of the view and below she saw a rather useless-looking wing sticking out above the clouds. “An airship!”

            Lilah laughed a sort of half-terrified, half-thrilled laugh and gripped the rail tightly. Other passengers gave her funny or disgusted looks as they passed. Most of them were dressed in what appeared to be some sort of quasi-Victorian costume and not one of them wore anything like the black jeans, Converse shoes, black t-shirt and lab coat that she wore.

“Uh, excuse me?” she asked a nearby young woman who turned her nose up as she passed. “Ok, um, sir? Excuse me, could I…?” A gentleman coming in the other direction did much the same, refusing to acknowledge that she was there at all. Lilah backpedaled against the outer wall and slid down against it, looking out through the railing at the atmospheric scenery going by. The wind was cold and the setting sun lit the clouds from beneath. “Great. I’m freezing and I have no idea where I am or where I’m going.” She pulled her coat tight and folded her arms. “Still miles better than where I was, even if I end up homeless on the street somewhere,” she asserted and frowned. “Somehow I don’t think I’ll have any more delusions that will tell me where to go and what to do…”

A middle-aged woman walking toward Lilah caught her attention and the sight of her startled her sufficiently as to render her speechless. She was probably four feet tall. Her skin was pale purple and two large, curled ram’s horns grew from either side of her wide face. She loped slowly in a graceful sort of waddle on decidedly bovine legs. Her clothes seemed to made of many layers of different home-spun cloth bound together by belts hung with baubles. Before Lilah could react to this, the ram-woman swerved left toward the railing to avoid a swirl of twinkling lights developing in her path just in front of where the young scientist sat.

The lights brightened and grew in number, spinning around a central point that very quickly took the shape of a man. In a few seconds, the glowing shape exploded with a soft, tinkling sort of noise and a puff of tiny dying embers, revealing a tall, dapper gentleman in a pith helmet and navy-blue uniform. The ram-woman looked casually over her shoulder and smiled but continued on as if this was totally normal. He was ginger with an impressively curled mustache. “Oh, bother. Just as I was at last growing accustomed to Borneo,” the gentleman said as he dusted himself off. “Now, what requires my attention this time, I wonder?” He looked around him and quickly noticed the terrified young woman curled against the side of the airship.

In a commanding tone of voice but with an obvious smile under his orange mustache he addressed her. “Hallo, Could it be you’re the one I’ve been brought here for?”

“Uh…How did…?” she muttered, staring.

He stepped closer and looked both ways. “Not dressed as any Kazoolander I’ve ever seen, cowering in fear... My guess is you’ve just arrived. Though this ship appears to be quite far from any port.” He offered her a hand to stand up and smiled wider. “Don’t worry, Lass. I don’t bite!”

Lilah took it and he pulled her to her feet. “I went through a portal…”

“Ah. You’re a stow-away. And probably a rogue rift-hopper to boot. Only natural for everyone else aboard to avoid you, what.”

            She raised a brow. “A rogue what?”

            The gentleman leaned in to whisper. “Best not ask questions that give away that you are new to this place, Lass. You’re liable to be taken advantage of.”

            Straightening up and looking him in the eye she said “how do I know you’re not trying to do the same thing?”

            He paused a beat before laughing a low, honest laugh. “Good show, Lass. I can promise you I am nothing of the sort.” He took a pipe from his pocket and started stuffing it with tobacco and motioned for her to join him at the railing. “You know, you quite remind me of a dear friend of mine. Could be his sister. Spitting image, what.”

            A chill went down the young woman’s spine as she gripped the rail. “Oh, no. Was that thing I went through a gateway to the past?”

            “The past? Well, I don’t know. Time is sort of, dare I say, irregular in Kazooland. Even more so for myself in particular! Did you come from Earth? What year?”

            “Yes, 1991.”

            “Nineteen. Yes, that sounds about right. Well, then you’re not Walter’s sister, not by a long shot!” the gentleman laughed.

            Lilah stared at him. “Walter! You don’t mean Peter Walter?”

            “The Colonel, yes indeed! Fought together in Africa, what. Did you know him? No, of course not. 1991, hm.”

            “He was my second great grandfather.”

            It was the gentleman’s turn to stare. “You don’t say? Well! It’s a pleasure to meet you!” He snapped his fingers. “That’s it. That’s exactly it. I was brought here to help you. Now, what could it be that you, a descendant of Walter could possibly need help with, hm?”

            “I… uh…” Lilah stuttered. “I ran away from home and until just now I didn’t know that Kazooland was a real place. So far the people have avoided me and some of them are totally terrifying and we’re flying and I’m not sure how, I mean, look at this thing! And then you just sort of materialize in front of me and…”

            He made shushing noises and put his hands on her shoulders. “Understood. I’m the very person to get you to the Cav and settled in to Plum Street snug as a bug, what!”

Lilah rubbed her face. “This is a lot to take in. What ‘brought’ you here? How you just sort of…” she wriggled her fingers at him and made a sound that fairly closely imitated the one she had heard when he made his arrival.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I am Brigadier General Archibald Pottsworth, Quantum Leaper, at your service.” He laughed lightly and changed the subject as if he had sufficiently explained the matter. “I wonder, of all of Walter’s portals you chose to use such an unconventional one. You’re really quite a dare-devil, what!”

            “All of…?” Lilah asked. “There’s more than one?”

            Pottsworth raised a brow. “Well surely! I have one, the Cavalcadium has plenty of them, if the one in the manor has closed you could have just gone there.”

            “The Cavalcadium?” she asked, dazed. He nodded. “Oh. Dad took us out of that when I was a little kid. Said it was full of crazy people.”

            Another pause and another burst of raucous laughter from Pottsworth. “That it is, my dear, that it is. Though, your father sounds the one off his rocker for giving up on the Cav. But you’re in luck, I happen to be a member and if I’m not mistaken, this ship is one of theirs, bound for the Cav office in Dandytown.” He pointed to an emblem on the side of the ship-a blue gear. “I can take you there. They’ll all be delighted to see you! Oh! Forgive me again, I’ve not asked your name!”

            Lilah blinked a few times, overwhelmed by Pottsworth’s enthusiasm. Her shoulders relaxed and she managed a small smile. “Thank you, Brigadier General. I’d love to come with you. I’m Lilah. Lilah Moreau-Walter.”

 

.x.

**Asininia**

 

            _I’m scared._

            **I’m here.**

            Where are we?

            _We’re movin' again._

            **It’s alright.**

            That tickles!

            _What’s happenin' now?_

            **It’s alright.**

            Click click click.

            _I’m scared it’s gonna happen again._

**It won’t.**

            What won’t?

            _I couldn’t stop it..._

            **It wasn’t your fault.**

            Oh, back then?

            _I don’t wanna do it again._

            **If you can’t stop it, there’s nothing to be done about it.**

            I don’t want to do it, either.

_We won’t._

**Rabbit, how did you do it?**

            Do what, Spine?

_No, I won’t do it again._

**You might have to.**

            Rabbit, what’s he talking about?

_Jon, just ignore him._

**Rabbit don’t be foolish, if we need to protect ourselves from these people…**

            Oh no, that...?

_I won’t kill again!_

**You couldn’t help it, but it saved you from being destroyed by them before.**

            Save us…

**Please, Rabbit, maybe we can temper it somehow.**

            What would happen if we didn’t protect ourselves?

_I dunno, Jon._

**Don’t think of just yourself and your feelings, think about Jon.**

            Think about all of us!

_Jon, I…_

**Rabbit, please.**

            [whimpers]

_You… just imagine pushin' someone away._

**That’s it?**

            Pushing?

_That’s what did it._

**So maybe we won’t push as hard.**

_If you don’t push hard, nothin' happens at all, I tried._

**Ok, thank you, Rabbit.**

            Push push push.

            _We’re movin' again..._

            **Hang in there.**

            Push?

            _I’m scared!_

            **Hang in there!**

            What’s happening now?

_I don’t feel good..._

            **We can’t let them separate us!**

            Do something!

_I don’t wanna!_

**We must!**

            Push!

 

.x.

            Mortimer knew something had gone wrong when the lights went out and didn’t immediately come back on. For four or five minutes he stumbled in the dark of his suite of rooms and out into the hall, down the stairs, feeling his way in the pitch black of his family’s castle. When the lights flicked back on the brightness startled him, but only for a moment as he picked up the pace and hurried to the labs.

            A rowdy crowd of black-and-green garbed Becile workers clogged the hallway. Mortimer barked at them to make way and they parted for him. One or two of them wore nothing but their undergarments, one clasped a hand over her mouth but her teeth somehow seemed to leak out from between her fingers. Three children pulled oversized uniforms tight to their bodies. He had to press against a wall as a worker ran past, followed closely by something black and amorphous hot on his heels. On the far end of the hall, several workers stood, trapped by a good twenty feet of writhing snakes. One of the higher-level engineering department supervisors, an intimidating tall and muscular woman blocked access to the lab in which Cedric Becile and his closest confidants had entered nearly three hours before. Mortimer’s stomach turned. He hadn’t felt well all day and his breathing had been particularly bad lately. An earlier coughing fit in the lab had prompted his father to shout “take that noise elsewhere, blast it!” and he’d been relieved of having to watch the experiment on the Moreau-Walter power cores. Now, as he approached the lab door, he thought he might well vomit from the apprehension.

            “Sheng-zi, what’s happened?” he addressed the large, female Becile worker.

            The woman’s pout lessened slightly, the only indication that she could give that she was glad to see him. “Prince Mortimer, the news is not good,” she said quietly. “It would appear that people’s nightmares are presenting themselves as reality. I am glad to report I have not had a nightmare recently so appear to have been spared this condition. A crew has entered the lab in hazmat suits to assess the situation and…” She was cut off as the lab door opened and three people bustled through. Two workers in black-and-green head-to-toe coveralls helped a thin man to walk. The left side of his face appeared sunburned and his black hair singed. His left arm was missing below the elbow.

            “Eustace!” Mortimer cried. “What the devil happened? Is this a nightmare as well?”

            His half-brother cast his half-lidded eyes on him as he was escorted past en route to the hospital wing. “The King is dead,” he said and sneered at him. “Long live the King.”

            Mortimer clenched his teeth and slipped into the lab around Sheng-zi. There was no trace of Eustace’s left arm, or anything recognizably human, save a few piles of ash in various locations around an exam table with three black spheres on it surrounded by testing and monitoring equipment--all of which was also blackened and offline. Suddenly, his urge to vomit disappeared. Mortimer had a brief asthmatic attack as he fumbled in his pockets for his inhaler and Eustace’s words sunk in. “Sheng-zi,” he called. “Shut off power to this laboratory and lock the door. No one is to enter ever again.”

            Sheng-zi gave a short, but respectful nod. “Yes, King Mortimer.”


	8. Trying to Fill the Void

**Earth**

            All morning Peter fought with the feeling that he would be physically ill and so didn’t take breakfast with the family, preferring to sip on endless mugs of tea, instead. Just before heading to the “public parlor” (as Alex liked to call) it for the press conference, he reloaded his Moreau-Walter Amalgamated travel mug with tea (a light, bright ceylon) and glanced at himself in an antique mirror hanging in the hall. Peter Moreau-Walter IV was tall (as most of his family was) and slim, his eyes were so dark as to be nearly black, and his hair was blue-black like his elder sister’s. He kept it short but had been thinking about growing it out a little. His father wouldn’t like that. Peter frowned and sighed at his reflection. “Can’t help it. Gotta do what you gotta do,” he whispered. “Lilah, would you be proud of me?” Only the stillness answered.

 

            He entered the bustling parlor slowly and tried not to look at the faces of the dozen or so reporters who had gathered and were seated in various caned chairs lined up in rows on the oriental rug in the center of the room. Alex stood at an intricately carved podium and tapped his notes to straighten them. To his left was an empty chair and to his right a CRT monitor stood on a Victorian plant stand. There were no obvious cables leading to or from it and its form was simple and sleek with no buttons or logos save the letters MWA on the top of its pale silver case. “Peter, good of you to join us,” Alex said and a ripple of soft laughter rolled across the room.

His stomach turned and he looked in panic at his watch. “I’m five minutes early…” he whispered and frowned at his father.

“Did I say you were late?”

“No, but…”

            Alex smiled to the crowd. “Well good, we can begin, then.”

            Peter took his seat and faced the audience of reporters. Many had notepads or tape recorders and some had brought video cameras and lighting equipment. All of them were looking directly at him. The world skewed. He could hear his father speaking as if he were under water. Peter gripped his mug of tea tightly and tried to relax, hoping his outward appearance didn’t belie his fear. So far, the reporters seemed to be focused on Alex’s words. He directed their attention to the monitor and using a small remote control played Lilah’s short message. When it was over, Alex spoke again and fortunately when he said “and so I present to you the new Vice President of Moreau-Walter Amalgamated, my son, Peter Alexander Moreau-Walter IV.” he heard him loud and clear as if his ears had popped.

            Still clutching his tea as if it were all that was keeping him afloat, Peter stood and nodded to the audience. “Hello,”  he said, startled by the confident tone of his voice. “Thanks for coming. I, er, I’ll do my best to fill my sister’s shoes. I thank my father for having confidence in me and I look forward to the future.” The rehearsed lines fell from his lips as if they were his own. He nodded again and sat back down on cue.

            Alex also thanked the reporters for coming and the room practically erupted with questions. “Dr. Moreau-Walter, is it true that your daughter lost her mind?” “Dr. Moreau-Walter, do you really think an eighteen-year-old is fit to…” “Was the incident at Lollapalooza part of MWA’s feud with...?” “What does the MWA board have to say about...?” “Do you have any comment on the civil suit against MWA filed last week...?” “Peter, are you going to...?” “Peter, are you single or…”

            His father ignored them and touched Peter’s shoulder. “Let’s go. This is over.”

            “But…?” Peter asked, falling back into a daze again. As if in answer, three security guards wearing MWA uniforms stepped between them and the reporters accosting them, allowing them to slip out of the parlor. The largest of the guards boomed that the reporters were welcome to leave now and the questions stopped.

            “I… I have to go to the bathroom,” Peter said, broke off from his father and headed to the nearest facility--a large guest-bath just a few doors down. It was made of white marble with features not updated since the 1920s. The new vice-president’s sigh echoed in the expansive chamber as the door shut behind him. He put the travel mug down on a shelf above a large mirror and studied his reflection for a moment. Gilt light fixtures filled the room with bright, crisp light giving him the appearance of a human burnt matchstick. Just as he was turning to relieve himself the door opened and two young women in white suits entered. One was short and Asian, the other of average height and dark skin tone. They wore fairly polite smiles for two women interrupting a young man about to use a toilet. Peter’s hand had only just touched his zipper. He spun around to confront them.

            The Asian woman spoke first. “We’re sorry to intrude, Mr. Moreau-Walter, but your father won’t talk to us so we’ve taken advantage of the press’ invitation to your home.”

            “We’re from the Cavalcadium,” the other woman said quickly with a lilting African accent. She touched a blue gear-shaped pin on her lapel. “Perhaps you’ve heard of us? We mean no harm, just want to get your ear for a minute.”

            “I have…” Peter said cautiously. His hands trembled from nerves and too much caffeine.

            “Good. We are here to extend membership to you,” the Asian woman flipped a business card out from the inside of her sleeve and pointed it at him.

            Her associate nodded. “We are not at liberty to say why, but suffice to tell you that certain events have played out that would make membership in our organization desirable to you. Should you care to find out more, contact us.”

            Peter cautiously took the card into his shaking hand. “Ok…”

            With that, the women smiled, nodded, turned on their heels and walked purposefully out of the restroom. Peter gaped for a moment then ran to the door but when he looked into the hallway there was no trace of either of them. Only his father stood against the wall and raised a brow at him.

            “Did you just see… two…” Peter began, but no, he could not have seen them for how unphased he appeared. He glanced down at the card in his hand that read simply ‘The Cavalcadium’ next to a graphic of a blue gear and quickly stuffed it into his pocket.

            Alex rolled his eyes. “I think you need to stop drinking so much tea, Son. Now hurry along. We’ve got work to do.”

 

.x.

            Deelia turned the television off and tossed the remote forcefully at the empty side of the couch and it bounced off the cushions and skittered across the floor. She pulled her legs up under her and folded her arms tightly against her chest. She was still dressed in her green-and-blue plaid flannel pajamas. Her blue hair was tied back in a short ponytail. Her burning gaze flicked from the black screen to a window to her right that looked out at the western horizon from the third floor lounge. A soft, mechanical squeaking coming from the doorway caught her attention and her head snapped to see what it was, drilling her eyes and vicious pout up to blast whoever was intruding on her solitude.

            The pale-blue robot peeking in on her ducked out of sight then reappeared, apologizing for startling her.

            “It’s fine. Whatever,” Deelia said in short, huffy breaths.

            “You’re Miss Deelia, right?” the robot asked, not daring to enter the room.

            “Yeah.”  
            “I’m Pi. Like the number, not the food.” Its life-like faceplates slid easily into a convincing smile.

            “Yeah, I know. My sister built you.”

            “Yes!” Pi chimed then deflated as it noted the disdain in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

            “Not your fault.”

            “Not yours, either.”

            “What?”

            Pi raised its hands. “I meant that I know that your anger toward me isn’t because of something that I did, but instead reflects how you feel about Miss Delilah leaving.”

            Deelia sat up straighter and glared at the automaton. “And just how do you know that?”

            It glanced at the ceiling as if searching for an answer. “I listened to you.”

            “I didn’t say anything!”

            Pi smiled again. “That’s right.”

            Deelia smouldered. She wished she had the remote to throw again, perhaps not at the robot, but just to throw. She wanted to heft it and watch it crash against the wall and maybe break into delicious pieces.

            Its voice snapped her back to reality. “What would you like to do?”

            “Do…?” Deelia asked dreamily. “Maybe I want to run away, too.”

            “Really?”

            She relaxed a little and leaned back on the couch. “No. Are you programmed to like me or something?”

            “I’m sorry?” Pi tilted its head to one side.

            “Why do you want to talk to me?”

            “I guess because I’m new. I like talking to people, but Alex is so busy, and my siblings aren’t programmed to be as high-functioning as I am, and poor Pete is just exhausted all the time.”

            “And my mother is crazy.”

            “Mrs. Moreau-Walter is delicate,” it corrected her. “That’s for certain. She doesn’t care for automatons, either. It wouldn’t help if I spoke to her. I like to be helpful, not hurtful.”

            “How do you know I don’t hate robots, too?”

            “Oh!” Pi said and its shoulders raised a little. “Do you hate robots?”

            Deelia was tempted to say yes. She was tempted to tell it all sorts of horrible things and thought again about throwing the remote at it but the image it made in her mind gave her a nauseous twist in her chest. “No one has time for you?” she asked.

            “I suppose not. If you don’t as well, that would be everyone,” it said matter-of-factly.

            Deelia unfolded her legs and crossed the room in front of Pi. She scooped the remote control up off the floor and tossed and caught it in her hand twice. Gripping it tightly, the teenager turned to the robot. “Wanna watch Animaniacs with me?”

            Pi blinked a few times, its pale blue photoreceptors clicked almost imperceptibly. Unlike the Walter automatons, the Moreau-Walter 20th century robot made very little noise at all. “Sure!” it chimed and joined her on the couch.


	9. 15 Plum St., Dandytown

**Kazooland**

BG Pottsworth was observant enough to see that the young woman he had been pulled through time and space to assist was dead tired, scared, and in need of a friend. Rather than drag her to the Cavalcadium office (an enormous campus of buildings in the center of Dandytown) right away, he decided to take her home. Drawing out his pocket watch and popping it open to reveal a round video screen he pressed the stem again and a female operator appeared and connected him to number 15 Plum Street, Dandytown. Lilah was too confused and tired to process any of what she saw and so decided to trust him. He spoke next to a man on the other end of the watch who became excited and agreeable to her being brought there. In what seemed like moments, the airship was slowing, circling a city and coming in for a landing. The spires, domes, rooftops, and clock towers looked like those in an old European city imagined by an insane person. Pottsworth ushered her off the ship and they bundled into a carriage drawn by gaunt, silver, automaton horses. Lilah started to get a second wind as she took in the sights and marvels around her. The carriage entered a quiet residential area, turned a few streets and stopped in front of a pink sandstone townhouse, three stories in height with the number 15 on the door. Pottsworth helped her out, wished her luck and explained that as a time traveler with no control over when or where he appeared, he was not sure if he would ever see her again, but was glad that he’d been able to help a descendant of his good friend. He tipped his pith helmet, she thanked him, and he exploded in a shower of sparks, on to his next adventure.

            The door to 15 Plum Street swung open and the automatic horse drawn carriage clipped away. Slowly, Lilah climbed the steps, stuck her head in the door and called hello. A thin wisp of what looked like smoke coalesced in the foyer and a disembodied voice welcomed her to the house. “Welcome home, Miss!” a man’s voice said, enthusiastically. “I am called Gilmore. I’ve got Mrs. Moreau-Walter’s room prepared for you and dinner will be served at six. Do you have any bags? I can run a bath for Miss if you like or would you prefer to rest first?” The smoke congealed into a tall, sepia-toned human male, though he was still a bit see-through. “I do apologize for my enthusiasm, Miss. It’s been so very, very long since I’ve been able to serve!” He was pleasant looking, grey-haired and appeared to be in his mid-fifties, wearing a stereotypical butler’s uniform of black and white. Lilah looked him up and down, stared through him at the stairs behind him, and fainted.

 

.x.

When she woke, Lilah was surprised to find herself in bed. The air was a little stale and dusty, but warm. She lay on her back covered with fine linens and a puffy down comforter on a king-size brass bed that creaked as she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Startled and confused, she scanned the room and saw her sneakers placed neatly by a low dressing table. That, its chair, two chests of drawers, and a huge armoire were all of a matching set of some kind of dark wood and everything had an early-twentieth century look to it. Two large windows on the right and in front of her were heavily draped but some sun shown through. To the left was a door and the thought of bolting for it flashed through her mind a split second before she noticed the tray of food.

            A silver tray stood on a folding stand at her bedside. Three small plates with glass domes over them held what looked like fruit, breads or pastries of some kind, and perhaps cheese. Though they had some semblance of what one would expect to see on a breakfast tray, there was something not quite normal about their appearance. A tall glass of water, a small vase with a delicate blue flower and a folded card propped up against it completed the tray. With trembling hands, remembering the last thing she saw before she lost consciousness, Lilah took the note and read it.

 

_“Miss Delilah, Welcome to 15 Plum Street! Bri. Gen. Pottsworth informed me that you were coming and did mention you’d never traveled to Kazooland. I’m afraid I was so excited to have a Moreau-Walter in the house again that I quite frightened you! I apologize most humbly. My name is Gilmore and I am your family’s servant and have been for the better part of seven decades. I am a ghost - a poltergeist to be exact, meaning that unlike the average specter, I am able to move tangible objects. Ghosts are not an uncommon sight in Kazooland, unlike on Earth, and there is a vibrant community of those like me here in Dandytown. Peter A Moreau-Walter II in 1955 set up a trust to maintain this house in perpetuity and to pay my salary and I have remained faithful to him all this while. I hope you find the house to your liking. I took the liberty to place you in Mrs. Moreau-Walter’s room. If you find it not to your liking, there are many other rooms in the house to choose from as all are sadly empty. When you are ready, simply call for me and I shall attend to your every need. I look forward to serving you! - Gilmore”_

 

            Lilah folded the note again and paused, listening for any ghostly sounds and hearing none, tore into the breakfast tray, consuming every bite of food on it. When that was taken care of, she slipped out of bed and leaving her shoes behind, went to explore the house. To her relief, just outside her door was a large bathroom. Two staircases (one up, and across the hall, one down) and three doors (her room, the bath and two other bedrooms: one masculine and one childlike with two beds) framed a large, pentagonal hallway. She looked to the stairs that went up and decided it was too dark and creepy to investigate right away. The downstairs were wider and lighter so she padded down in her socks.

            At the base of the stairs a hall stretched before and behind her. On the eastern side, a bright sitting room with tall windows seemed a perfect place to have breakfast. Next, a library or study room full of dusty tomes and a handsome writing desk. On the western side was a parlour with some decoration, photos of the family, copies of images she recognized from home of the first three generations of the Moreau-Walter dynasty, plus some more unconventional, decidedly Kazooland-esque images of bizarre people with and without members of the family. The front door had an art-deco geometric design filled with blue and turquoise stained glass that seemed to glow in the sunlight. Across from the open, arched entryway of the parlor, on the eastern, street side of the house was a rather worn door. Though the carpet in the hall had surely been replaced, the parquet floor was worn between it and the threshold. Lilah turned the knob hesitantly, but then opened the door quickly, pushing a layer of dust up into the air and the sunlight streaming into the room. She gripped the door frame to keep from falling down as she took in the music room. Instrument cases were stacked neatly against the far wall. Music stands stood at the ready. Five, distinctly beautiful gramophones with their flower-like horns were staggered around the room and she could tell that the furniture was of the special reinforced variety her family had constructed to suit their metal men. Photographs adorned the walls of the Steam Man Band, some with family, some performing, and even a few with another mustachioed robot with glasses who she recognized as Hatchworth, the poor robot sealed away in the lowest level of manor house. The largest image of the three musicians hung above the tiled fireplace. The Jon, The Spine and Rabbit posed for the camera, grinning, holding a mandolin, a guitar and a small squeeze box. Lilah trembled, teared up and stood there for several minutes before she collected herself and entered the room. She sat down carefully on a blue velvet sofa and rubbed her face. “G-Gilmore?” she whispered.

            “Yes, Miss,” he replied, appearing in the doorway.

            “I have some bad news.” Lilah turned to face the spectral butler. She’d rarely had anyone but a robot look on her with such compassion and patience. “Please, come in and sit down. There’s something you have to know.” He bowed his head and she watched him closely as he crossed the room. He was slightly translucent, but not as much as he had been when she first saw him. His body and clothes were both sepia-toned but otherwise everything about him seemed normal, right down to the silver cufflinks and the shine on his shoes. He sat on a sturdy wingback chair across from her and gave her his full and silent attention. “The reason that I’m here…” she began softly and told him of how the robots met their end and how she had run away. She hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed that there would be no other family members coming to stay because they couldn’t know where she was. To say these facts aloud was deeply distressing to the young woman and Gilmore gently reassured her that he was pleased to have her and that he would do his best to make her residence comfortable. He changed the subject by suggesting that he tour her around the rest of the house. When he asked if she’d seen the basement yet, she dried her eyes, perked up and asked “basement? Is there a lab?”

            Oh, was there a lab. Three subterranean levels of lab space that had gone unused for decades, and though some of the technology was woefully outdated, other items thrilled her in their strangeness.

            “Oh,” Gilmore wondered when asked what a certain gadget was. “Perhaps these are items only found in Kazooland? As I recall, Cav members are not permitted to contaminate Earth with certain things.”

            “The Cav…” Lilah whispered as she handled a brass and wood device that looked a bit like a cross between an egg beater and a light bulb. “I think I need to join this thing.”

 

 


	10. The Cavalcadium

**The Cavalcadium**

 

            The following day, outfitted in some of her ancestor’s clothes (and assured that she would look less out of place in these than the t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers she had brought with her) Lilah stepped out of 15 Plum Street into the sunshine wearing a long, blue-grey skirt with a simple ruffle at the ankle, a pair of black laced boots and a tightly fitted blue velvet jacket. Gilmore insisted she wear a grey felt hat with a small collection of blue feathers on the brim to complete the ensemble. She descended the steps to the waiting cab--a small, mechanical, horse-drawn carriage like the one she and Pottsworth arrived in that Gilmore called a ‘hansom’. Her pulse raced all the way to her destination, but once the cab arrived the sight that greeted her washed away any anxiety she may have had about her appearance.

            Located just south of the heart of Dandytown, the “branch office” was not at all what she had imagined; rather than a typical office building, or even a nineteenth century one, the Cavalcadium was more like a college campus. All manner of people came and went, crossing a park-like pentagonal green in the midst of five impressive structures: a depot/hangar building from which an airship was just departing; a marble-columned library; a gold-domed “Hall of Knowledge”; a crystal palace concert/assembly hall; and an impressive, gothic, seven-story building with an even taller clocktower in the middle of it. This last building resembled a German rathaus made from dark grey wax that had melted a little. Gilmore had described the location of the administrative offices to her, and of the five buildings, the melty-rathaus seemed to most closely fit the bill.

            On entering through its huge doors, Lilah was immediately overwhelmed by the bustling commotion of an enormous lobby. Voices echoed off the high-vaulted ceiling and she forced down a desire to turn around and run back to the comfort her new home and instead focused on the task at hand. She had to find the registrar. An information desk would be helpful, but if there were signs to tell her where to go, she couldn’t see them. Instead, Lilah deduced that a row of what looked like bank teller stations on her left was a good bet. Each one featured ornately carved wood and marble pedestals and countertops. A gas lamp flickered to the left of each counter. A few people stood in line at one station. At another, a plump older man spoke into a brass horn, nodding and smiling. There were seven such stations but only a yellow-skinned woman at the far end was free. As she got closer, Lilah saw that she was not just yellow, but covered in brown spots and decidedly not human.

            “Don’t freak out, don’t freak out,” she whispered to herself. “Your ghost butler said there’d be all _sorts_ of people.” Lilah laughed a soft, crazed laugh and shook her head. The feline woman (and her co-workers) wore a white uniform with blue accents. The organization’s symbol, a silver gear surrounded by runes and filled with a spiral, was emblazoned on the right breast of her jacket. As Lilah approached she smiled and asked how she could help her.

            “I… I’d like to join the Cavalcadium?” Lilah asked, meekly.

            “Certainly, Miss,” the woman replied, swinging into action. She pulled a legal-sized multi-paged form from a drawer, clipped it onto a clipboard and handed it to the stunned young woman. “Fill that out and hand it back in to us and someone will get back to you in four-to-six weeks,” she said pleasantly.

            “Oh, ok.” Lilah took the form and thanked her. Confused, she walked slowly toward a row of benches a few yards from the information desk. The first page looked innocuous enough - name, date of birth, home world, current residence - but the second was downright cryptic. Questions such as “Equate the relation of Planck’s Constant for Blue Matter in a vacuum - be sure to show your work” and “Which genes in the Menehune genome are shared with the Common Brownie and what is the best method for genetically altering one into the other?” The questions both baffled and excited her and she was in quite a state when another woman flopped down on the bench near her, startling her enough to make her jump.

            “Oh, sorry about that, Kid,” the woman said, cooly. She had light brown hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin and was a few inches shorter than Lilah. She wore khaki pants, a brown leather jacket, and a goodly coating of dust which puffed out into the light when she sat. “Oh, just applying, huh? Man, that form is somethin’, ain’t it?”

            Lilah made a face. “Sure is. They said it would be weeks before they even reviewed it. Is that normal?”

            The woman rolled her eyes. “Yeah. You’d be surprised. Takes almost a year for them to decide if an applicant is up to snuff.”

            “A year!” Lilah cried. Several heads turned.

            The woman laughed a little. “Yeah. Unless you got an in, like me, for example. My grampa was sort of a celebrity, so when I wanted to join at sixteen it was like-” she snapped her fingers. “Name’s Georgia Jones,” she said and and stuck out her hand. Lilah shook it.

            “Lilah Moreau-Walter.”

            Jones’ jaw dropped and three people in earshot stopped in their tracks and repeated her name.

            “Holy moly, Honey. You don’t need that stupid form!” Jones laughed a friendly, amazed laugh and standing, pulled Lilah up with her. “Come on. I’ll get you squared away.”

 

            The dusty, older woman pulled Lilah along out of the bustle of the lobby and down a long hall, telling her that with a name like hers there’s no way she’d need to fill out a form to join. Her own grandfather had been a celebrity adventurer, she might have heard of him? Yeah, he was in the movies, she said, on Earth he was just fiction but here in Kazooland, boy… Slack-jawed, Lilah stumbled along behind Georgia Jones and before she could ask if she was talking about who she thought she was talking about they had arrived at a door marked “Registrar General” which Jones pushed open, demanding audience with the man in charge. A young receptionist in a purple sweater-vest seemed taken aback and was about to insist that the Registrar General was busy when Jones dropped Lilah’s name.

            “Moreau… Walter?” he asked, stunned. “I’ll see if he’s free, one moment!” He scrambled up from his desk and went through a door behind him. In moments, a commotion could be heard and a roundish man with greying purple hair flung the door open and stared at the women. “Miss Jones! And… Miss Moreau-Walter! Please come in!”

            Jones smirked at Lilah and they entered his office. In not fifteen minutes, the papers had been signed, the duties and obligations explained, and Lilah was an official member of the Cavalcadium. She rubbed her thumb over the shiny lapel pin bearing their logo and grinned. Jones patted her on the back as they left the office. “See? Loads easier than that friggin’ form from hell. It’s a good thing we bumped into each other, ain’t it? And now you’re stuck with me as your mentor!” Jones laughed. “Now, you need a kantan and to get on some committees and you’ll be well on your way.”

            Lilah raised a brow “A kanwhat?”

            Jones raised one back at her. “A Varchukantan Device, you… why have you never heard of one?”

            Sighing, Lilah mumbled. “I’m fresh off the boat from Earth. I got here three days ago, or was it two?”

            “Ya don’t say! I haven’t been back in years. Still there, then, eh?”

            “Earth? Uh, yeah.”

            Jones laughed again at her reaction. “A kantan is like a phone, or a walky-talky, or a closed-circuit TV all rolled into one.” She pulled a large pocket watch from her pants pocket and pressed the stem to open it. Rather than displaying the time, where the watch face should be there were a few flat brass buttons. She pressed the stem again and the lid of the open device displayed the waveform of the sound it made, a sort of summer-insect-like noise that repeated twice before resolving into the face of a woman in a white Cavalcaduim uniform. “Oh, hey. I’m just showing how this works to a newbie, wave hi for me!” Jones chimed and the woman reciprocated and said ‘hello’ cheerily. Jones thanked her and closed the watch shut. “You call an operator like that, ask for the party you want - gotta be a Cav. member on this network, though - and they connect you. There’s these we carry with us and ones for our houses. Where do you live?”

            “Uh… 15 Plum Street.”

            “So if I wanted to get a hold of you, I’d ask the gal to connect me to you by name. If you didn’t pick up your kantan I could try your house by asking for the address. If no one picks up or If I just ask to, I can leave you a message. Next time you connect, the operator knows you and she tells you that you got a message. Neat, huh?”

            “A little overwhelming, actually.”

            Jones nodded. “I can imagine. Say, it’s sorta weird that you don’t know anything about Kazooland, even if you came from Earth. Your family created the place, for cryin out loud.”

            “Created…? I don’t understand, but please,” she said, raising a hand as Jones opened her mouth, “save the explanation for when my head stops spinning! My dad pulled us out of the Cavalcadium just after I was born. I think he was afraid of it for some reason. But he never told us it was here, or even that this world actually existed!”

            “Huh. Weird. Wonder if he was afraid of the Beciles.”

            “The… Be-… what…?” Lilah gasped. “What do they… have to do with… Are they here?”

            “Well,” Jones made a face as the young woman started to panic. “They’re sort of like, well, on Earth you’ve got the reds, Soviets, Chinese, DPRK, that kind of junk, right?” Lilah nodded. “They’re like them. They have their own country, they don’t get out much, and when they do, shit goes _down_.”

            “They’re… _here_?” Lilah asked, her voice shaking. What little color she had in her face drained out.

            “Whoa, whoa, not _here_ , here. Look. If there’s any place in Kazooland that’s safe from them, it’s Dandytown, and the closer you are to the Cav, even more so.” Noting that her words weren’t calming the young woman, Jones took her by the shoulders and apologized for upsetting her. She guided her once more, this time down the hall in the opposite direction. “My buddy Daving in the library can probably help explain. He’s sort of a nut about them. Don’t tell him your name, though. He's weird when it comes to the Beciles, he might pester you about it.”

 

.x.

            “Oh, stars, yes, I can tell you about the Beciles. What do you want to know?” Daving (a librarian at the Cavalcadium’s giant library deep in the heart of the rathaus) drawled, leaning over a table at the two women. He was dark skinned, slender and his features were pointed, almost sharp. “I’m kind of a fanboy for them.” He pushed a pair of gold-rimmed glasses up his nose for effect.

            “Well, can you give my friend here the short story?”

            He sighed dramatically. “I’ll give it a shot. Ok. Thaddeus Becile lived in Verk in a home that no longer exists on West Babage Street. He was a Cav member who discovered Green Matter in the 1890’s and tried to make a go of mining its ore on Earth. He and his rival in love, Peter Walter had a musical duel of sorts over Delilah Moreau at the grand meeting hall here in Dandytown that ended with the place coming down and Thaddeus getting booted from the Cav. And he lost Moreau in the process. Other Beciles have tried to re-apply over the years, but have never been permitted entrance. Thaddeus attempted to forcibly harvest green rock candy in Africa on Earth. His giant copper African elephants were defeated by Peter Walter’s automatons and giant steam powered giraffe. Becile Industries existed on Earth on the fringes of super-science, often dealing in shady, villainous activities to stay afloat. In 1948, Bertram Becile and Katherine Moreau-Walter were both drowned on the same day in Hawai’i. There are a few different stories about what happened, but it’s generally believed that he was trying to kidnap her. That and a horrendous accident involving Walter’s Blue Matter in 1950 that took the life of Peter Moreau-Walter and Norman Becile were the last straw for the Moreau-Walters. They made life so difficult for the Beciles that they retreated permanently to Kazooland in the ‘60s.”

            “And they all live in their own country, right?”

            Daving gave Jones a funny look. “Yeah, duh.”

            “My buddy hear just got off the boat from Earth.”

            “ _Boat…_? Oh! Oh, ok. You’ll need a visual aid.” Daving opened a drawer in front of him and fished out a telescoping pointer. He pulled it out to its full length and a soft humming emanated from it as he drew a map in the air to his left. Wherever the pointer traced the air, a thin, golden trail of faint light was left in space and hung there, pulsing softly. “They live in Asininia,” he said and wrote an ‘A’ over a shape he’d drawn. Then he drew more shapes and letters. “Merveilles is between us, Verk, here, and them. Their king is Cedric Becile and his two sons are Eustace and Mortimer, though no one outside Asininia has ever seen either of them. They mine green rock candy to make into Green Matter to power their inventions, but the resources are getting low so they’ve been plotting to take over New Pieland for years now, which they think has strong veins of the ore. Which is here." Daving drew another shape and marked it ‘NP’. "Some say it’s only a matter of time or shifting alliances before they do, but New Pieland, Merveille and Verk are pretty tight, so no worries about that happening any time soon.”

           Georgia noted the ashen look on the young woman’s face yet remained. She shifted her weight and posed a leading question. "And they can't just waltz in here, right?"

            "Stars, no. Since they had that overt show of aggression toward New Pieland a decade ago, all travel to and from Asininia and Verk, New Pieland and Merveilles has been prohibited. Just as well, really. The low-budget airlines used to puddle-jump to it, talk about a long, nasty flight!”

            Jones thanked her friend and lead Lilah out of the library.

            “See. Nothing to worry about! This is the safest place you could possibly be if you’re concerned about them. Besides, they probably don’t even know you’re here.”

            Lilah nodded her head thoughtfully. “I guess not. Thanks, Georgia. You’ve been so nice to me.”

            “Eh,” Jones shrugged. “Least I could do. Now, we should go to the info desk and get  you a kantan. Oh, and, when you’re lookin’ at committees to join, I sure could use some more warm bodies on mine. Cryptotech! Remember it.”

            Lilah made a confused face as they walked together back into the busy lobby. "I'll give it a shot."

 

.x.

**Asininia**

Mortimer did not care for the throne room his father had spent the greater part of his day in. Though the throne itself was a technological marvel, serving as a control center for the entire castle, the new king found it uncomfortable, physically and mentally, to sit upon. He spent more time in the labs, walking the halls, and even outside the castle walls than his father ever had. An ambitious project was started within a week of the previous king’s demise to combat the pollution that not only poisoned Asininia, but threatened New Pieland to the west and Mortimer was constantly on the move, working on various aspects of this goal.

 

This morning, Mortimer received word that the latest message he sent to their neighbor had been rejected. “Yet again!” he shouted. “How may I show them that things will be different if they will not so much as listen to me!”

The Becile worker who handed him the returned letter bowed. “I know not, Sire, other than time and persistence.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I suppose that persistence is one of our family’s strongest traits, and could prove useful… depending on how it is implemented, of course.” He coughed lightly. “Persistence and optimism. In the right hands…”

His thoughts were interrupted by his name being shouted from down the hall. “Mortimer, where the bloody hell are you?”

Mortimer clenched his jaw. “Here, Brother.”

Eustace Becile, thin and grey of complexion, stomped toward him clutching a few sheets of paper in his only remaining hand. He raised these and shook them as he approached. “What are you on about with this so-call budget of yours?”

Mortimer cleared his throat. “Is there a problem, Brother?” He gestured to the worker that he should leave and he bowed again and departed.

“You know damned well there is. This was Father’s last project, you cannot pull the funds from it for this ridiculous clean-up of yours!”

The older man looked down on him. Mortimer stood at over six feet and Eustace few inches shy of it. “Father is dead, Eustace, and I am King. And while I do not require you to refer to me as such, I would have you respect my title.”

Eustace threw the budget papers on the floor in front of him. “You do not deserve the name _Becile_ , let alone your title!”

Calmly, the older brother took a slow breath, careful not to instigate a coughing fit. “Brother, I offer you the chance to take that back.” His green eyes darkened until they turned black.

Eustace flinched. “I take it back, Brother,” he spat.

As Mortimer’s irises regained their usual hue, he coughed lightly. “I thank you. Father’s project was indeed his last and it shall remain so. There is no need for such a heinous weapon to exist in this world. If we are able to reverse the damage done to our lands, we will have no need of other lands. Is that clear?”

Eustace smouldered. “Crystal.” He turned on his heel, making certain to tread on the papers as he did so, grinding them into the carpet, and stormed off to his chambers.

Waiting until he was sure that his brother was sufficiently out of earshot, Mortimer released the coughing fit he had been holding back and gasped for air as he stumbled away.


	11. 1994

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not one for jumping someone else's train, but I did intentionally make Pi non-binary. It's tough to write "Pi" instead of he, she or even it and trying to RP as Deelia and not get that messed up was hard and even a little frustrating for me, but I knew it was easy for Deelia. Pi is who Pi is.

**1994**

 

            Three years had passed since the Lollapalooza incident. In that time, Lilah settled in to life in Kazooland much easier than she thought she ever would. 15 Plum Street had three subterranean levels of laboratories and workrooms that kept her occupied while at home, and she signed on for two committees at the Cavalcadium: Jones’ Cryptotechnology committee which dealt with the research and discovery of lost and ancient technology, and Blue Matter committee, of which after the first year Lilah became the chairman. This latter committee didn’t often meet, but she found it familiar and her knowledge useful to its members.

At first, Lilah was slow to accept and adapt to the ways of society in Dandytown. The people were diverse and strange compared to those on Earth--her servant was a poltergeist, some of her fellow members of the Cavalcadium were half-animal people, magic-users, mimes, and mythical creatures--but the social rules and structures were much stranger. There were certain, flowery ways to speak to people depending on who they were, what time of day it was and what was going on. For certain types of people, it was expected to speak freely. With others one had to speak in either riddles, jokes or questions only. For her own social status, it was expected that Lilah had to learn to speak proper English without the Earth-based colloquialisms she’d grown up with, which took the longest time to adjust to.

            At first, she only grudgingly wore clothes in the style preferred in Dandytown--a sort of Victorian or turn-of-the-century style involving many layers, accessories and hats--but she had little choice, having not brought her own wardrobe with her. She entered Dandytown society-proper after attending her first Cavalcadium grand ball and soon found it to be both fun to dress up every once in a while, and irritating to have to learn the politenesses and decorum befitting an upper-class woman such as herself. Indeed, the Moreau-Walter family had a sizable endowment set up to maintain the house at 15 Plum Street, and pay Gilmore’s salary. Another large chunk of funds in various accounts had been accumulating interest for the last thirty years which had reached an astounding £2.4mil. and was available for Lilah or any member of the family to use in Kazooland.

And it seemed that everyone knew it.

            From practically the first day when she said her name aloud, heads turned. People wanted to meet her. They were polite (as social propriety dictated) but forward, and sometimes the questions about how the rest of her family were faring were unnerving. Gilmore comforted her one day when she returned home reduced to tears from the stress of having to field a number of these sort of questions and taught her how to twist the conversation away from subjects she’d rather not discuss effectively and without offending the asker. He taught her how to greet strangers, how to use the excessive cutlery at the formal lunches and dinners she had to attend, how to dress for what event. Three years of practice later, no one could tell that Lilah hadn’t been born and raised in Dandytown, though the behavior never did come naturally to her. Without GIlmore’s expert and patient instruction on the ways of this society, she told him one day, she would be lost. He was so pleased by the compliment that he glowed pink for a week.

 

            Meanwhile, on Earth, the remainder of the Moreau-Walter family got by without the eldest daughter. Alex devoted himself to a fellowship at the California Institute of Technology. Peter entered Cal Tech himself shortly after his sister’s disappearance. Deelia graduated from the Francis Parker school, having skipped a grade, and entered the Haas School at Berkeley for a business degree. She took her assistive robot and best friend Pi with her and they lived in a sumptuous apartment in town. It was a much needed break from the often oppressive atmosphere of the manor house, especially after the last incident with her mother.

 

            Months before Deelia’s graduation, Peter and Alex were both (in their own ways) proud of her achievement and excited for her future. She knew that, but still, if she could, Deelia would have started packing the moment she got her acceptance letter from Berkeley. Her mother’s condition seemed to be getting worse.

            Even in her earliest memories, Deelia knew there was something wrong with Eliza. She could hug her and coo over how cute she looked in a frilly dress one moment and the next be a crying, screaming mess about the same thing. Her older siblings or the automatons were usually there to scoop her up and her father would be called in to deal with Eliza’s outbursts. As the years went on, the swings became more violent. One day many years before, Lilah, Deelia and Eliza were sitting at the table in the kitchen together. Lilah spilled a glass of iced tea - it slipped out of her hands and the glass shattered on the floor. The sound of shattering glass seemed to flip a switch in their mother’s head and she flipped the table, shrieking that someone could have gotten hurt and that Lilah was so careless, etc. In moments, The Spine appeared and pulled the girls behind him. His strong, titanium-alloy body took the blows as Eliza threw everything she could get her hands on at him before she was sedated by her nurses.

            In the years following Lilah’s departure, Eliza was more medicated than she had ever been. She existed in a fog, rarely speaking, and when she did, she often cried softly, miserably, unable to communicate any of her feelings. Secretly, because she hated the fog, she stopped taking the copious medicines the nurses gave her, and unbeknownst to the family, her mania was once again close to the surface.

            On the day of her graduation from prep school Deelia was getting ready in her suite of rooms, chatting with Pi about all the awards she’d won at Prize Night. The door swung open and her mother, dressed sloppily in a suit with her hair just as it was when she awoke, entered the room. Usually, she could not walk unassisted and usually she was not dressed in anything more complicated than a nightgown and bathrobe. Deelia was not a fool and so stood up, alarmed and defensive. Eliza’s voice was shaky as she greeted her daughter, saying something about how she looked forward to attending her graduation - something that the girl knew was definitely not part of the plan. Pi turned and faced Eliza, its hands open in a gesture of passive greeting. As it was programmed to assist those in distress, Pi could not resist asking Eliza if she was alright and if it could help her, even though everything about this woman’s posture sent up dangerous flags.

            “Robot…” Eliza growled and snapped. “Another damned _robot_! Is this what you replace me with, Deelia! You, too! You, and your sister, and even Alex replaced me with robots!!” she screamed and launched herself at Deelia, but Pi stood between them.

            “Mom, no!” Deelia shouted.

            Pi stood, unable to move against a member of the family. Eliza’s eyes darted around the room, settling to her left on an iron and brass Victorian door-stop holding the connection door between the foyer and bedroom open, the kind with a heavy base and a handle to make it easier to move. She snatched this by the handle and swung it at the robot, but Pi did not move. Deelia screamed as she watched the blunt object smash the light-weight body and aluminum frame of her best friend over and over before assistance finally arrived in the form of two orderly nurses armed with syringes full of sedatives. When it was over and Eliza had been carried from the room and Peter and Alex had arrived, Deelia got up her courage and steadied by her brother, circled the robot, still standing with one arm slightly extended (the other hanging, limply).

            “Remarkable,” Alex said, examining Pi. “Its been knocked offline, but hasn’t released this defensive posture. Deelia, this little robot was ready to give its life for you. I believe I’m quite impressed.” He sniffed, and Peter and Deelia stared at him. It was the kindest, most moving thing either of them had ever heard him say, especially about the robot that he and the daughter that ran away had built together.

Tears poured down Deelia’s face as she took in the dents, exposed wiring and darkened photoreceptors. “Dad, can you fix Pi?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

She wiped her face with the back of her hand and squared her jaw. “Can I help?”

 

.x.

**October 2nd, 1994, Dandytown**

It was a bright, warm, fall Wednesday. Gilmore had prepared Lilah a boxed lunch and she took it to the park on the way to the Cavalcadium branch office. She sat on the tall steps leading up to a fountain that featured a statue of a famous cat-person who had done something-or-other to deserve a statue made in her likeness. It poured water from the palm of her outstretched hand. The sky was clear and the sound of the splashing water and light din of traffic and chatter from the city gave a pleasant ambiance as Lilah ate her cucumber sandwich and sipped from a brass-plated thermos full of tea. The sun warmed her back through the brown denim jacket she wore over a short, grey dress. Tall brown leather boots came to her knees which showed a glimpse of open-work stockings as she sat. A small, black cap sat over her now long blue-black hair worn up in a roll at the neck. Lilah made a soft, contented sound and watched the people pass by on Broadway before her.

One of these passers-by caught her eye, if only because he caught the eye of several other young ladies as he stopped and turned in place, glancing from a map to the signs around him. Instantly, she knew what he was doing. She’d done it herself the first time she walked to the Cav. He was of average height, slightly stocky weight and impeccable dress which indicated to her some amount of wealth. He had brownish-red hair cut short and his facial hair was neatly trimmed in the VanDyke style. The man looked up in her direction through small, wire-rimmed glasses and Lilah shuddered.

Almost as soon as she was introduced at the Cavalcadium, men and women alike had swarmed her. They were all so pleased to meet her. They wanted her to come to their lunches, on their air-cruises, to grand balls. Men wanted to take her to dinner and for the first time since her mother had told her Patrick Reed burned for her, she realized that men were attracted to her. Unlike Reed, these men did not know her. They hadn’t watched her grow up or seen what she could do with robotics, and she learned very quickly that what they saw in her was primarily one thing--her family name. Delilah Moreau and Peter Walter were legends. What man wanting to stand above all others wouldn’t want such a name to add to his status, her friend Georgia Jones had advised her. “It’s so annoying, having famous ancestors” she had drawled. “I don’t gotta worry too much anymore. People don’t always make the connection these days, but I first arrived here I had t’ beat ‘em off with a stick!” Georgia put her hands on her hips and laughed, but Lilah sometimes wondered that she actually loved the attention she derided.

Of all the men (and women) who pursued her, Lilah had felt nothing, no spark of interest or excitement, perhaps because she knew that they knew her name; they knew what they wanted before they got a chance to know her at all. Approaching her now was a nice-looking man of a few years her senior who didn’t know her from Adam. All she had to do was stand, descend the stairs and ask if he needed help finding the Cavalcadium.

Not finding it on the map was an easy mistake to make, being that there was an arterial route around the lake and park breaking the main road into East Broadway and West Broadway. The Cavalcadium seemed to enjoy playing around with people by advertising only that they were located on Broadway, the exact location of which was actually across the large park from where this man stood on the western arterial between Rex Marksley Boulevard and Elm Street. Lilah stood and watched him wander toward the fountain. She had never done something like this before and the idea of being forward with a complete stranger made her a little light-headed, but three years of working at the Cavalcadium and meeting hundreds of new people certainly helped. With her heart pounding in her chest she walked down the steps, carefully packing the remains of her lunch away into the satchel she carried. “Excuse me, good Sir?” her own voice startled her with its confidence. The man turned to face her and smiled on her with sharp, green eyes. She stepped down and stood a few feet from him. “Looking for something? Perhaps I can help.”

“I would be humbly obliged, Miss,” he said, removing his bowler hat to reveal a receding hairline, brought a gloved fist to his mouth and coughed lightly three times. “I am in search of the Cavalcadium.” His voice held an accent that she couldn’t place.

“I thought as much. They like to hide it,” she said, smiling back. “I was heading there myself. May I show you the way?”

He replaced his hat, folded his map and stuffed it in the breast pocket of his jacket. “I would be most appreciative. Are you a member of the Cav?”

“I am,” she answered cheerily. Introductions were coming, fast.

“Splendid! My name is Morton Greene,” he said, tipping his hat. “I am in your debt.”

Delilah Moreau-Walter did the same. “Not at all. Call me Lilah.”

 

.x.

            One week later, Georgia Jones emerged from the Hall of Knowledge into a grey, fall afternoon and zipped her bomber jacket up against a chill in the air. She turned as she heard her name called. “Well, holy shit, Lilah Moreau-Walter as I live and breathe,” she said jokingly. “Where you been hiding?”

            Lilah grinned to split her face. “Around.” She wore a grey tweed suit, gloves, and a smart felt hat with an upturned brim.

            Georgia hooked her left arm around Lilah’s left shoulder and walked with her. “Out with it! Who is he?”

            Lilah laughed. “Morton Greene. He’s applying for membership.”

            “Cute?”

            “ _Handsome_.”

            “Smart?”

            “Incredibly so.”

            “You like him?”

            “Do I ever.”

            Jones laughed. “Oh, that’s good to hear. ‘Bout time you found someone you could put up with. Well, I’ll miss you, but I’m happy for you.” Lilah play-hit her and she released her shoulder. “Greene, huh? What’s he into?”

            “Conservation, natural sciences, and rare materials.”

            “Blue matter?”

            “Not so much. He’s concerned with the misuse of all matters and their effects on the environment.”

            “Oh, hippy, huh?”

            Lilah was a bit taken aback at the use of the Earth-based term, but laughed. “Yes. Total hippy, but not the drugs-and-music kind.” Her mood darkened a little as she remembered why she had flagged Jones down. “Georgia, did I hear right that you’re involved with this business with the new alliance?”

            Jones stopped walking down the steps and sighed. “Yeah, Kid. It’s messy stuff. Don’t worry about it too much.” She looked back up at Lilah with a sheepish expression.

            “I’m not thrilled that one of my friends is concerning herself with the inevitable application of lethal weapons, is all.”

            “Oh man…” Jones stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Look, I’m not thrilled, either, but if I’m not involved, these morons are planning to use the tech I’ve uncovered in ways it was never intended. I’m trying to keep the carnage to a minimum, I promise.”

            Lilah pouted. “Georgia, is there really going to be a war?”

            “No,” Jones affirmed. “No, there hasn’t been any threats outright, but certain things I can’t talk about have raised _concerns…_ ”

            Lilah made a face, but didn’t reply.

            “Hey, if you’re so worked up about lethals, why not help with _non-lethals_?”

            “Non-lethal weapons?”

            “Yeah, there were some ideas about goober rounds, net guns, pulse-weapons and even using portals somehow in combat, but the only people interested were pushing lethal.” Georgia grinned a little when she saw Lilah’s eyes brighten at the mention of portals. “How about it?”

            “I’ll have to think about it.”

            “That’s the spirit. So when do I get to meet this Greene guy?”

            “Are you going to the Cindi Mayweather show tomorrow?”

            “Oh, that android from the future? I was thinking about it. Guess it’s pretty rare and she’s supposed to be awesome.”

            Lilah glowed. “She is! We’re going, you can meet him then. Oh, and Georgia,” Lilah lowered her voice and descended the steps. “When you meet him, try not to say my full name.”

            Jones cocked a brow. “Why’s that?”

            “This is the first man I’ve met who didn’t know me, so I’ve sort of avoided telling him.”

            Jones grimaced. “Ok, but that’s gonna bite you in the ass.”

            “I will tell him! I just want to wait a little longer, is all. I want him to like me for me, not who he thinks I should be. Just a little longer, until I’m sure of his feelings.” Lilah continued down the stairs past her friend and Jones rolled her eyes and shook her head.

 

.x.

            Lilah met Morton for dinner ahead of the show at a small restaurant that offered a romantic atmosphere of almost nothing but two-top-tables and candle light. They spoke in hushed tones about anything and everything and enjoyed a lovely and simple dinner. Only a week and three days had passed since they first met, though anyone who saw them would have thought they had been together for a long, long while.

After dinner, they walked slowly to the nearby Tesseract Palace Theatre in the fading light of day, arms linked in perfect Dandytown decorum. They were impeccably dressed (he in a dark green tuxedo and she in a royal blue ankle-length gown) and heads turned to take in their perfection. As they entered the theater’s foyer, filled with cheery concert-goers enjoying a pre-show drink, Lilah’s stomach flipped. There were several dozen Cavalcadium members in close proximity to the front doors and no way to avoid any of them. She clutched Morton’s arm tighter and he asked her if she was alright. Before she could speak, an ample-bodied older woman with orange, scaly skin in a dazzling white gown turned to face them and chimed “Delilah Moreau-Walter, why, aren’t you stunning tonight!”

Lilah laughed nervously. “Mrs. Kinsakana, you’re looking radiant as well,” she quipped, as was expected. Mrs. Gloriosa Kinsakana was one of the foremost socialites in Dandytown and there was no way Delilah could blow her off and not suffer the social consequences. Morton’s face lost all of its color and he stared at his date as if her head were on fire. Lilah, trapped by custom and forced to proceed with formalities faked a smile and introduced her date. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Morton Greene, applicant to the Cavalcadium. Mr. Greene, this is…” before she could finish Morton started coughing. Loudly. _Terribly_. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Kinsakana! Please excuse us. I think Mr. Greene needs some air!” Lilah grasped his arm tightly and pulled him through the crowd and back out of the glass front doors.

In a minute or so, Morton caught his breath and red-faced he begged her pardon quietly.

Lilah stared at her shoes. “I’m so sorry that I kept my name from you,” she said.

“It is…” Morton chose his words carefully and watched her apprehensively. “Quite a shock.”

“Oh, Georgia was right, this sure did bite me in the… Ugh. I’m sorry. I just wanted you to like me for me, that’s all.” Lilah folded her arms and turned away from him.

“You did?”

“Yes, but now I’ve upset you. You practically _choked_ in there.”

Morton cleared his throat and was silent for a moment. He nodded to himself quickly. “Well, I’ve had trouble with my lungs for many years. I am so sorry that I caused a scene--I suppose the shock triggered a bit of a fit. But I think I can identify with you. I too have _detached myself_ from my family, in my case in the hope to attempt to impress who I truly am upon the Cavalcaduim.”

Lilah turned back and raised a brow. “You have?”

“Yes. I do not wish to associate myself with my horrid half-brother--the only family I have left--ever again. I came here to find new friends and to pursue my ambitions on my own. I assume you kept your name from me in order to prevent me from assuming _certain things_ about you based on the accomplishments of your family?”

She nodded.

“Then I am beyond pleased to know we are even more similar than I thought we were before I knew your full name. I am quite taken with you, Lilah,” he said, stepping closer to her. “And I promise you that I will never compare you to or hold you up to any sort of standard because of it.”

The sound of applause drifted out of the theater and Lilah smiled broadly and extended her hand to him which he took in his, brought it to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you,” she said. “I am quite taken with you, as well, Mr. Greene.” She blushed and slowly, they made their way back to the glass doors and enjoyed an amazing concert together.

 

They parted ways for the night in front of the theater and their photograph was taken several times by social column reporters. As Morton Greene helped Lilah into the carriage that would take her back to 15 Plum Street, he repressed a few coughs and kissed her hand once more before the door closed. She waved good-bye and he turned and walked back to the Vesper Arms--the hotel he was calling home in Dandytown. On a whim, he turned left and entered the park, meandering along its paths under the soft gas lights. “Oh, this changes everything!” he said softly to himself once he was alone. “Moreau-Walter,” he laughed incredulously and coughed a few times. “Of all people. Of all _women_! Oh, providence. Oh, fortune. Oh, _hell_.” He stopped on top of a bridge over a lazy stream and leaned over the rail and looked at the dark water moving below. “Hell. Why not? What’s in a name, really? And if I never return, who’s to be the wiser, eh, _Greene_?” Morton asked his shadowy reflection. “Right. I love this woman! That is plain. How else could I make such an insane decision!” He laughed and coughed again and wandered his way back to the hotel where he found it very hard indeed to sleep.

 

.x.

            “Oh, Gilmore!” Lilah sang as she entered her home late that night. “I think I might be in love!”

            Her ghostly butler took her hat and clutch as she danced through the hall toward the stairs. “With Mr. Greene?” he asked.

            “Indeed! I think so! I don’t know, I’ve never been in love before. Have you?”

            “Oh, yes, Miss.” He blushed faintly purple.

            “What’s it like?”

            Gilmore raised a brow. “Can you go an hour without thinking of him?”

            “No.”

            “Are you imagining what Delilah Greene sounds like?”

            “...” Lilah covered her mouth with her hands. “I am now!”

            “Congratulations, you are in love.” He floated after her as she ran up the stairs. “Beware, Miss! This is a most dangerous condition, prone to all sorts of foolish behavior!”

            “Oh I think that’s a given. You might even see it in the papers tomorrow,” she said, thinking of his coughing fit just before the concert.

            “Ah… _What!”_

            “I’m kidding!” She flopped down on her bed and removed her shoes. Gilmore moved them into the closet with his spectral abilities and turned down the covers for her. “But seriously. Besides you and Georgia, I don’t have many people who are close to me. No offense, but until I met Morton, for the last three years I’ve had this sort of… empty spot.” She pursed her lips for a moment and her eyes glistened. “When I lost my friends, they left such a void. Morton is just so wonderful. He believes in peace and proper handling of matter and he’s so smart and classy and listens to me and makes me feel like I can just be who I am and I feel like…” She trailed off and apologized for rambling.

            Gilmore smiled. “I know. I am very glad for you, Miss. Will that be all for the evening?”

            “Yes, Gilmore. Thank you so much.”

            He bowed and gave her another sly smile as he dissipated.

 

            Rematerializing in the kitchen to finish up his chores for the evening, Gilmore hummed happily to himself. When the idea of his mistress marrying and perhaps starting a family entered his mind he flushed cerulean, giggled like a schoolgirl, and a shower of tiny but brilliant sparkles exploded from the top of his head as he bounced around the kitchen as if he were in a pinball machine.


	12. Mortimer Becile

**December 1st, 1994, Dandytown**

            “Let it be known,” a extremely tall, grey-haired humanoid man said into a large microphone seated in an even larger shock mount. He had two short but sharp black horns protruding from the top of his skull and wore official Cavalcadium robes with markings indicating he was an official representative of the order. “That this day the sovereign nations of Verk, New Pieland, Merveilles, Snornia and Meh have one and all agreed to the following edict,” he said. His voice resonated from glowing cubes hanging in the air all over Dandytown. The announcement was also broadcast in each of the countries named. He stood on the steps of the Cavalcadium administration building before a large crowd on the pentagonal green. “First: That all natural dragons (to wit, those that were brought to life as such and were not constructed, transmuted or otherwise reconfigured from another life form) including naturally born dragon-hybrid creatures, hereafter referred to as “real dragons”, are hereby designated a protected species under the Kazooland Endangered Species Act. Any person or persons, including but not limited to individuals, businesses, or nation-states, are advised that threatening the life of a real dragon is designated a High Crime in Kazooland.” He cleared his throat and paused to let the murmuring of the crowd die down before continuing. “Threatening the life of a real dragon shall be defined as any attempt to bring physical harm, disruption of a nest or immediate habitat, and the abduction of individuals or their eggs. Judgement of and punishment for infractions will be meted out by a council of nine assembled from representatives of Verk, Merveilles, and New Pieland.” He went on with the edict, delineating the punishments and how and when the council of nine would meet.

            “Wow, so the dragons finally got a lobby together, huh?” said Georgia Jones. She stood next to Lilah and Morton Greene on the green (which was currently a seasonally-appropriate brown). All three of them wore scarves to guard against the chill in the autumn air.

            “It only makes sense,” Morton said, rubbing his gloved fingers to keep them warm. “Many decades have they suffered encroaching mining operations and other abuses by non-dragons and artificial dragons alike.”

            Jones nodded. “Oh yeah, you’re from Meh, right? Is this a big issue there or what?”

            “There is a goodly colony of what I suppose they are now calling “real dragons” there, and sadly, no, the issue is not often raised. Most believe that dragons are indestructible and do not need to be afforded any protection from industry. One would think that anyone who has seen how small and helpless a dragon egg is (compared to a full-grown adult) would think differently.”

            Lilah looked up at him and smiled proudly. She took one of his cold hands and squeezed it. Jones scoffed. “Yeah, it’d be nice if we didn’t need this “High Crime” BS,” she said, making air quotes with her fingers. “All these countries joining up and makin’ rules and councils and crap when it’s really just one damn culprit when it comes down to it. But Asininia’s like the friggin’ boogey man, no one’ll touch em with a 20 foot cattle prod.”

            Morton hummed in agreement and pursed his lips. “It’s true that country does not get along well with others, but it makes more trouble for itself through its own actions than has ever been brought directly against it.” He looked down at his fingers as he noticed they were being squeezed a bit too tightly. “Delilah, are you alright?”

            Her face was a little pale and her shoulders were hunched up and tense. She blinked and shook her head. “I’m just cold. Still not used to winter, I guess.” She smiled up at him and gave Jones a reassuring nod. “Come on, let’s all go in and get something hot to drink.”

 

.x.

**Two months later, Earth, February 2nd, 1995**

            Peter Moreau-Walter entered his family’s home, as he usually did when he came back from Cal Tech for the weekend, through the front door. The doorman greeted him and took his coat as per usual. He walked down the long hall and took the stairs to his room because they were closer than the elevator. His feet made little sound on the heavily-reinforced and well-padded stairs, designed to accommodate the comings and goings of heavy automatons. As he reached the top of the first flight the sound of raised voices made him stop short. His mother’s high, whining, sing-song tone put him on high-alert and sent his pulse racing for a moment before he heard his father respond to her. They were just a few paces away to the left  in the family TV lounge and in the middle of what sounded like an argument of attrition that he’d heard before. Eliza would want something she either couldn’t or shouldn’t have and Alex would calmly talk her down, but it took sometimes upwards of a half an hour to do so. Peter was about to turn to descend and take the elevator to his third-floor rooms when a phrase froze him in place.

            “Alright, Ellie,” Alex said. “If that’s what you want.” He sounded utterly defeated.

            Peter climbed as high as he dared in order to better hear, his hands trembling.

            “I just can’t live like this anymore, Alex. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t…” Eliza repeated in an exhausted tone, the words tinged with the soft hiccuping of the end of a long crying jag.

            Alex shushed her and Peter imagined he was holding her and stroking her hair. “I know. I know.” Peter waited a few moments more, but didn’t hear anything further. He slowly descended the steps with his mind racing.

            “What did Dad give in to?” he wondered aloud. He found the nearest communications panel and pressed the button for his sister’s room. “Deelie, you around?”

            “Peter?” Pi’s voice replied. “Miss Deelia is in the shower presently.”

            “Tell her to call me when she’s out. It’s important.” He released the button and bit his lip.

 

.x.

            Later, Peter and his younger sister Deelia sat in the lounge in her suite of rooms and talked about what Peter had overheard. “...And now I feel bad because here I was trying to avoid her because I didn’t want to have her ask about my love life again…”

            “Yeah, it does get super annoying,” Deelia agreed. “I’m not even old enough to have a proper boyfriend and she’s always on me about it.”

            Peter grinned and blushed. “Well, I finally do.”

            “What!” Deelia cried and smiled wide. “Get out! Seriously?”

            “Yeah. Her name’s Astrid.”

            “That’s a cool name. Is she German?”

            “Nope. Korean! She’s a chem major.”

            “Perfect.”

            “Right?”

Their light mood was abruptly dashed to pieces as the communications panel on the wall chirped urgently.

            “Deelia?” Alex’s voice asked.

            She held a hand to her chest and took a breath before answering as calmly as she could. “Yeah, Dad?”

            “Is your brother home yet?”

            She glanced over at him and he nodded. “He’s right here.”

            “Good. The both of you meet me in the teal parlor.”

            “Ok,” she agreed. When the channel was closed she let out a dramatic sigh. “Guess we’re gonna find out what’s going on, huh?”

            Peter stood and clenched his fists. “Why do I have a terrible feeling about this?”

            Deelia stood and smoothed out her skirt. “Because nothing good ever happens when it comes to mom.”

 

**April 22nd, 1995, Dandytown**

            A lovely Yulemas and exciting New Years Eve (in which an unexpected invasion from a rouge group of aliens from Hypexion V had to be partied into submission. The cleanup afterwards was arduous but amusing) had passed in Kazooland. Georgia Jones found herself called away on a mission to one of the far-flung forebodingly-shaped islands of the outer-reaches (the one shaped like a human spleen) to follow a lead on the mythical Vortsnoodler. Returning successful in mid-March, Miss Jones was to this moment yet scrutinizing the object (musical instrument? ear pick? death ray?) in order to ascertain its function. Young Morton Greene spent most of his waking hours (when he wasn’t attending mandatory classes or meetings involved with his seemingly-eternal Cavalcadium membership application) with Delilah Moreau-Walter. It had been a very good winter for them both.

 

On a cloudy afternoon, Lilah stepped lightly up a wide staircase between the first and second floor of the gold-domed “Hall of Knowledge”. She checked a gilt-lettered sign on the wall that pointed to rooms 201 through 230 to the left and 231 to 260 on the right. Turning left, she walked quickly toward room 223 and in short order found what she was looking for.

            Georgia Jones emerged from a meeting with five other people who spoke in hushed tones if they spoke at all. Lilah slowed her steps as she noticed the grave look on her friend’s face which turned to one of surprise as she caught sight of her. “Hey, Lilah!” Jones said, loudly. The furry brown man in the tweed suit who had been hissing urgently at her clammed up and fumbled with his briefcase as he excused himself.

            “Hey!” Lilah greeted her. “I had a heck of a time trying to find you. Are you on _another_ committee?”

            “Uh, yeah, just an ad-hoc thing, really,” she said awkwardly.

            “Something you can’t tell me about or something you don’t want to?”

            “You’re gonna make me choose?”

            Lilah pouted. “Would knowing upset me?”

            “Yes.”

            “Ah.”

            “It’s not confirmed and they don’t want anyone, let alone the media, to get up in arms…” she said quickly. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t get you up in them, so to speak,” Jones added quietly and pulled something small from her pocket and held it out for Lilah to take.

            When she saw the tiny gun-like device, Lilah took a step backwards. “Is it…?”

            “It’s not confirmed and I _cannot_ say anything more so don’t make me. Just take this. I know you hate weapons, but it’s a stunner.”

            For a moment she was speechless. “It’s a _stunner_ with a _‘murder’_ setting, Georgia.”

            “I know, I know, but it’s got a safety, look,” she pointed to the setting. Turn this here, then push down, turn another click right, release it, then turn it another click right and it’s engaged for that setting. Otherwise, it’s a stunner. Just take the damn thing, Lilah, it’d make me sleep better at night.”

            With a trembling hand, Lilah took the tiny gun from her friend.

            “I tell ya, I’m also glad you have that Morton to keep an eye on you. Between the two of us and that thing, you got nothing to worry about.”

            “Morton…” she said dreamily. “Oh, that’s what I came to see you about! I’m going to ask him to move in.”

            “No kiddin! Oh, even better.”

            “You think so?”

            “Of course! You two are a perfect pair!” Jones clapped her on the back as they turned and walked down the hall together.

 

**April 23rd, 1995, Dandytown**

Dark clouds threatened but Morton and Lilah walked the promenade around Lake Midori in spite of them. A light breeze blew but the temperature was warm and humid. The two walked slowly arm-in-arm and chatted quietly about Morton’s application to join the Cavalcadium. Things were looking up. “Once I am accepted I shall begin the search for a more permanent living-space,” he said. “My stay at the Vesper Arms has been a good one, but I do not wish for it to go on ad infinitum.”

            Lilah giggled. If this were Earth, she would have said ‘nonsense, you’re moving in with me!’ but such things were not so casually said in high-Verkian society. The quasi-Victorian social norms made saying something like that far too forward. Not that it wasn’t a woman’s place to order a man around, but decorum dictated that such an invitation be said in a more elegant way and she did her best to emulate the style. “Perhaps,” she said, grinning, “accommodation could be made for you at 15 Plum Street?”

            Morton Greene blushed, tried to hide his own grin as he stroked his goatee, and cast his eyes down to the cobblestone walk. “Oh?” he asked, innocently. “Is there a spare room at 15 Plum Street?”

            “Oh, certainly, but it would then be considered a boarding house and you’d have to share some space with a housemate.”

            They stopped walking, having arrived at a distant turn of the path that took them far from prying eyes. Tall shrubbery obscured them from the few other pedestrians and traffic on the far side of the lake. “Well, I’m not sure,” he said, taking her hands in his. “Is this housemate very pretty?”

            “Oh, I don’t know. Passing, I’d say.”

            “Hm. Smart then?”

            “Oh yes. More clever than you, in fact.”

            “Is that so!” Morton laughed. “You’re probably right.” He pulled her hands up to his chest and kissed them. “Then I would be quite amenable to such an arrangement.”

            Lilah’s heart skipped a beat and just as she was opening her mouth to say ‘it’s settled then,’ they were interrupted by two men in long, black coats, one tallish, one shortis, who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

            “Ah! Found em!” one of them cried. “Ey, Kahuna! We been looking foah you all ovah da place!”

            The other elbowed his shorter friend. “Youah Majesty!” the other bowed deeply. “You mus’ go back to Asininia fast kine! You braddah Eustace has run in da muck!” He was elbowed again and quickly corrected. “Runnamuck. He stay lolo, brah.” Both men wore dark goggles over their eyes, appeared to have sharp, pointed teeth, and shocks of bright, green hair.

            All of the color drained from Morton’s face. Lilah turned her head, took them in, and her mouth slowly opened. As she turned back to face the man she loved, she saw a lost look fall over him like a veil. He released her hands and she knew by this gesture that it was true. Her brain screamed with rage and betrayal. “I can’t believe I fell for such a stunt!!”

            “Lilah… I…”

            She took a step back as he slowly reached for her. “Don’t you touch me, Morton! No. Mortimer Becile!” she shouted and drew the tiny stun gun Georgia Jones had given her from her purse. “You couldn’t have just murdered me and been done with it? Was it just so much more delicious to rip my heart out this way? Or is that next on the agenda? Perhaps you were going to marry me and eviscerate me at the altar?”

            “I’d never…! Lilah, I love you, I…”

            “Bullshit! You know damned well what you people have done to my family time and time again.” The images of three singing automatons danced across her mind’s eye and without taking her eyes off of him, she twisted the stun-gun’s dial from ‘stun’ to ‘murder’. “My father told me to let it go--to let the circle of hatred die with them, but you people just keep it going! Well, if that’s the way you want it, Becile…” Lilah raised the weapon and pointed it at his head.

            “Lilah, please!” he cried.

            The two Becile workers whispered to each other. “Brah, we go already? Bettah get um outta deah ‘for she smoke um.”

            “Yah brah, uddawise dat Eustace going make pilikia.” the shorter agreed and pulled a small, black sphere from his pocket. “Fiah in da hole,” he whispered and lobbed it at the couple. A large cloud of green smoke engulfed them, sending Mortimer into a coughing fit.

Lilah shouted angrily and tried to catch him, but when the smoke had cleared there was no trace of him. The gun fell from her shaking hands and she dropped to her knees.

 

.x.

The rain didn’t come until well after Lilah had gotten home. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d found her way, and was surprised to see her feet cross the threshold. Gilmore was saying something to her, but she couldn’t really hear him over the roar in her head. Up the stairs, down the hall to the room that she had been prepared to share with her lover just an hour or so before. She fell onto her bed, fully clothed in thick layers of Victoriana and curled into a ball. It felt disturbingly familiar, except the last time, someone who loved her had carried her up the stairs. Her thoughts were disjointed, looping over and over and back to the feeling of his hands releasing hers.

Gilmore knocked several times before passing through the door and calling to her, his voice high with concern for her well-being. Would she need a doctor? he wondered.

She said no, but he didn’t budge so she sat up and rubbed her face and asked for tea.

“Oh, and Gilmore, should Mr. Greene call, send him away. I’ll not see him.”

Usually, he would reply with “very good” but instead he said “understood,” relieved that his mistress had asked for tea, a sure sign that she wasn’t ill, but distressed that Mr. Greene had hurt her so. The rain poured against the windows.

 

.x.

Halfway across town, Mortimer Becile leaned against a wall in an alley and coughed until he lost his breath. He choked and sputtered for a minute before the fit passed. The two Becile workers who had dragged him away were nowhere in sight. The weight of what had transpired settled into his mind and he slid down the wall, sat on the ground, and looked up at the night sky. The clouds that obscured the stars were low, waiting, and illuminated by Dandytown’s many lights. Carriages and automobiles trundled by at the mouth of the alley and the sounds of the city reverberated strangely in the tight space between buildings.

His thoughts spun wildly in his mind. Should he run back to her and beg her to forgive him? Why had she reacted so violently to his name? What past tragedy had befallen the Moreau-Walter family that would have caused such vehemence? _‘You know damned well what you people have done to my family time and time again!’_ she had shouted. She couldn’t be so enraged about the incident with the robots a few years back, could she? They were just robots, no one had been killed except his own father and she either didn’t know that or didn’t care. Whatever love she had for him evaporated with just one word--his wretched name.

“Dem da break, ah, Mista Becile?” a high, squeaky voice from somewhere to his left snapped him to attention. Two tiny creatures, long-eared, brown and messy, and only inches high were peering up at him. The sight was uncommon, especially in Dandytown. Browies were infamous thieves, tricksters, and shape-shifters, but it explained to Mortimer what had become of the workers.

            “Brownies…” Mortimer snarled. “Wonderful. What will Eustace think of next?”

            “I tink you going fine out!” the shorter of the two crowed in a diminutive voice and laughed. Its companion smacked it on the back of the head.

            “What my elusive college mean,” the other attempted to speak at Mortimer’s education-level. “Is many ting have convert. What was is not how is. And we need bring you to dat place. Where from you is. Again. Yes.”

            “Has something happened?” Mortimer asked, not a little suspicious.

            “Prob’ly!” the shorter one said confidently.

            “Well,” Mortimer said with a sigh and pushed himself up from the pavement. “There is nothing for me here, now. I’ll come.”

            The Brownies cheered, scrambled up his leg, hopped into his jacket pockets and the three of them left the alley as it began to rain.

 

.x.

Morton Greene easily boarded a flight to Meh. He hung his coat on a hook to his right, settled into his seat and watched Verk disappear under the clouds. He shut his eyes. With the Brownies well hidden in his jacket pockets and their eyes diverted, Mortimer called the steward and asked for paper, pen, and an envelope. As he waited to receive the items, Mortimer drafted a letter in his head.

 

_April 23rd_

_Miss Moreau-Walter,_

_I am sorry._

_I did not intend to hide my identity from you. When your surname was revealed to me on that day in November, I admit, I was terrified that you would discover the truth. As my feelings for you had already firmly gripped my heart, I set my mind to cast my own name aside forever if it meant that I could stay by your side._

_It was Morton who fell in love with Lilah and Mortimer who remains quite desperately in love with Delilah. That you so easily threw that away has broken my heart, but I see now that the bad blood between our families has more sway than my pleading._

_I return to Asininia and give up any hope of a bright future for myself and will focus instead on my people._

_I cannot muster the courage to say more, save that I wish you well and that you will be in my thoughts, always._

_Your Morton_

 

            By the time the steward returned with the means with which to communicate his feelings, Mortimer was despondent. Pressing his fingers to his eyes in a vain attempt to stop the tears, he muttered that he had changed his mind, but thanked the man for attending to him. The steward bowed and took the writing implements back.


	13. Confetti Cannon

**Asininia**

Despite the Brownies’ best efforts to cajole and provoke Mortimer into talking to them about what he’d been up to in Verk and who his lady-love was, he was tight-lipped throughout the voyage. It took only two days to travel from Verk to Meh and then on through a rift cleverly hidden in a mountain cave to Asininia. The two creatures didn’t do anything inappropriate but their near constant chatter verged on the untoward at times, like a pair of bullies trying to get a rise out of him. It wasn’t until they had at last entered the castle and one of them said something disparaging about his mother that Mortimer finally cracked. He stopped short, grasped the offending sprite and hurled it into a wall.

The Brownie deployed a pair of wings and saved itself just inches from destruction. Ey! Like beef, mista usta-be-king?” It made an obscene gesture with its diminutive hands.

“Brah! we going get in trouble now!” the taller one groaned, also extending its wings and quickly getting out of Mortimer’s reach.

            “Not!” the shorter one cried in a shrill, piercing tone.

“We not suppose tell him da kine, lolo!” the taller one shouted. Mortimer set his jaw and stormed past them and the two of them flitted down the hall after him.

 

.x.

            Eustace was waiting for them. He sat, one ankle crossed over his knee, his chin resting in the palm of his cybernetic hand. He wore a sort of wide headband that pushed his thin black hair from his face and covered his ears. On either side of the red carpet stood four Becile automatons, undressed skeletal humanoid things painted black with green glowing bits and black smoke puffing occasionally out of sync as their boilers were fed with bits of coal and green rock candy. He grinned as he stood and opening his arms wide, he bellowed “Welcome home, brother! I was so worried about you, wherever have you been?”

            “You know damned well, Eustace,” Mortimer growled as he approached the throne and glared up at him. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

            “Oh, this?” he answered with feigned innocence. “I was just keeping it warm. Rather warm. In fact, I think this chair has the impression of my ass on it now so I’d rather like to keep it.”

            “The hell you will.”

The Brownies darted to the throne and danced in the air around Eustace’s head. “Ey, kahuna?” one of them addressed the king. “We go? Dis okole gonna get da haole-maka an da kine, yeah?” its features twisted anxiously.

“Yes, yes, fine, fine, be gone with you,” Eustace waved, annoyed. “Your payment is waiting in the designated location.” He sighed dramatically as the two Brownies darted off out of the throne room to collect their reward. “It’s so hard to find good help these days, especially when the ones we _had_ were so loyal to _you_.”

“ _Were_?” Mortimer narrowed his eyes and his face quickly drained of all color. As his eyes and lips turned black, Eustace’s eyes lit up and he giggled apprehensively.

            “Oh, good. I was hoping you’d get mad enough to turn on me! Bring it, Mortimer, you son-of-a-mime!”

            The older Becile’s face was paper-white. In moments, two black diamond-shaped marks appeared below his eyes and he pursed his lips. He opened them to reveal they’d turned bright red and his voice became louder and more resonant than before, almost reverberating straight from his vocal chords as he commanded “ _Get off my throne, Eustace_.”

            Eustace grinned wider and stood up. He put his hands on his hips and stuck his tongue out. “No.”

            Mortimer looked perplexed, even horrified that his command was not obeyed.

            “Your power is great, I’ll give you that. Your mother was a very powerful mime and the fact that you gained even a fraction of her ability is impressive indeed. However,” Eustace said, hopping down and standing just before the line of automatons. “I used my time wisely these last six months. See this?” he asked, tapping his flesh finger to the headband he wore. “Noise cancelling headphones! I’ve recorded you when you’ve used your power of persuasion in the past, Mortimer, and created a pattern to cancel out the frequencies it creates. I am pleased as punch that it’s a resounding success!” He snapped his fingers and the line of automatons responded, two of them taking Mortimer by the arms and holding him. He struggled, but they held fast. “Good thing it works only on biological ears.”

            “Oh! There’s something else I’ve been working on now that I have free-rein to do so,” Eustace giggled. “Free _reign_ , get it?” He walked a short distance past Mortimer who struggled in the grip of the heavy robots that held him. “Come. Perhaps when you see what my problem is you can help me solve it!” The robots walked after him and Mortimer had no choice but to follow, his face still white and his blood boiling.

 

.x.

            Out on a balcony overlooking the landing deck where the royal airship would normally be launched from, a large contraption stood at the ready. It resembled an anti-aircraft gun if it were built from brass in the Victorian era. The barrel of the weapon was pointed down at the landing pad below. Eustace gleefully leapt up into the gunner’s seat, turned some dials and pulled some leavers and soon the gun was humming and ready.

            “The robot ray… you can’t be serious!” Mortimer cried.

            “Ah-ah-ah…” Eustace scolded, shaking his finger at his brother who was made to stand next to it. “I’m calling it a Confetti Cannon! Because of the effect it produces, really. I’m trying to own my shortcomings and move past them by embracing them.” He took a deep breath and moved his arms as he did so, pulling the ‘good air’ in and then pushing the ‘bad air’ out. “Confetti. Cannon.” Eustace patted the top of the control panel affectionately. “Observe!”

            Mortimer looked where Eustace was looking--at the target below. On the launch pad, two automatons had brought a test subject out within range.

            “Sheng Xi!” Mortimer cried, drawing her attention to him.

            “Your Highness!!” the large woman screamed back. “I tried to stop him! I’m sorry!”

            Mortimer glared at Eustace and his younger brother was clearly delighted by the look on his face. _“Let her go!_ ”

            Eustace tapped the headband again and shrugged, powering up the weapon with one eye on him.

            “ _Stop!! Stop this! Eustace!!_ ” Mortimer strained against the robots holding him back. They had to push him to the ground in order to keep a hold of him.

            “I want you to see how this thing doesn’t work right, Mortimer. Robots, pick him up and make him watch.”

            They did as commanded. Mortimer was brought to the edge of the balcony and his head was pushed to face the woman below. Tears ran down her face but she held her head high.

            “Sheng Xi… I’m sorry…” Mortimer too began to cry and Eustace smiled so wide he split his lip. “ _Fall asleep, Sheng Xi!_ ” Mortimer commanded and his ability to persuade was at last effective. The woman’s head dropped just before the brightly colored beam hit her, exploding her body into a shower of mechanical parts and iron filings. Mortimer hung his head and wept. His face returned to its usual color and he slumped in the automaton’s grip.

            The hum of the cannon died down as Eustace flipped switches to turn it off and he hopped down and dusted his hands slowly. “You see my problem? All the rest of the staff who were loyal to you had the same thing happen. Just went to bits! I can’t get them to hold together to form a complete robot. Something is still missing.” He pouted when he didn’t get a reaction. Mortimer’s head hung limp and he sobbed softly. “Well, that wasn’t as fun as I’d hoped it would be, but,” he said, lifting Mortimer’s head by the chin. “I can still make you suffer, brother.”

            The older man’s eyes were watery, distant. “Why?” he asked, simply.

            “Why? Why indeed. Mortimer, you were always father’s favorite. Even if I was more aligned with his beliefs than you were, even if you were always trying to do some sort of good for people or some such, he still loved you. You reminded him of _her_. Of that, what was her name? You-ay Bing? That mime woman. He never got over her. Ever. My mother, I don’t even think he remembered her name! No. You were his hope, no matter how many times _you let him down_.” Eustace took a deep breath, let Mortimer’s head hang once again and composed himself. “So, darling Brother, I will become you. From this day forward, I am Mortimer Ignatius Becile and you…” he said, squatting down so as to be able to look him directly in the eye. “You, I will make sure are alive. And that is all. I want to know you are close by and suffering. Without your dreams, without your kingdom, forever. Good-bye, Mortimer.” Eustace stood, turned and marched off back into the castle and the automatons dragged a defeated Mortimer down to the lowest dungeon, a few steps from the sewer, to spend the remainder of his days in isolation.

 

.x.

 

**Three years later, Saturday, February 3rd, 1998, San Diego, California**

            The bell above the door of an average-looking sandwich shop jingled as Peter Moreau-Walter entered, alone. He scanned the space and slowly approached the counter. On the left, two young women were seated in one of the few booths. One dreamily ate potato chips as her friend talked about her crappy work-week. On the right, two young men, one dark with neat braids pulled back and one light with a crew-cut worked on take-out orders. The man with the braids greeted Peter and he smiled back awkwardly.

            “I’m not sure I’m in the right place…” he admitted, pulling a worn, white business card from his pocket. “But I guess I must be?” He held it out for the sandwich shop worker with the braids to inspect.

            “You got it,” he said and nodded to his co-worker to take over as he lifted the counter up and came out from behind the work space. He indicated to a door marked “Employees Only” and guided Peter through. Once inside the break room, the man with the braids closed the door behind them. He crossed the room and opened another door on the far wall. “Right this way, Mr. Moreau-Walter.”

            “How do you know who I am?”

            He grinned and pointed to the card. “Same way the card knew it was time to show you the address.” He let Peter go before him into the grey light of the gaping doorway. Inside a large space opened up before them that resembled an office building interior with cubicles and a receptionist desk except that several things were off. Some cubicles were floating. There did not appear to be any sort of lighting, yet the place was as bright as a cloudy day. A man in a crisp white suit with blood-red eyes and stubby horns chatted with a ghost at a nearby water cooler. “Just check in at the desk and they’ll be able to assist you.” He patted the astounded young man on the shoulder twice and turned to go. “Welcome to the Cavalcadium.”

 

.x.

            After a short preliminary interview on Earth, Peter was sent via the San Diego branch’s rift to the Dandytown branch and ushered to the Registrar’s office. He emerged a member in short order and wandered out into the foyer of the administration building and gawked at the amazing people he saw crossing the great hall. “Holy cow. All the stories The Jon told us were true…” Some people stared at his ‘strange’ attire of blue jeans, tee-shirt, and sneakers. He noticed this and also noticed that most were dressed very heavily and a cold breeze blew in whenever the giant doors opened. He noticed the help-desk and started to cross the room when he heard his name called.

            “Pete?!” Lilah cried. She had gotten a congratulatory message that her brother had joined and ran out of a Blue Matter Committee meeting across campus. She panted as she stared at him with a perplexed look on her face that wasn’t exactly happy.

            He laughed nervously. “Hi,” Peter said and waved.

            She laughed back, took three steps toward him and hugged him tightly.

 

.x.

            Lilah took Peter to 15 Plum St. via mecha carriage and introduced him to Gilmore who was over the moon to have another Moreau-Walter to serve. He made them tea and Peter explained that he was only here for the day. Gilmore looked deflated.

            “But surely you will be visiting us, Sir?”

            “Oh, of course!” he chimed and the sepia-toned poltergeist flushed pink.

Lilah took her cup from her servant and he bowed and dissipated. “By the way, there’s a personal rift in the basement that links up to a lab in the manor.”

“What?”

She nodded. “I think it’s in Lab Seven,” she said and bit her lip. The same lab where the chassis of her friends rested eternally. She shifted her weight and sipped her tea.

Peter took the hint and changed the subject. “I talked to Dad, by the way,” he said. “I told him I thought you were here and that I wanted to join the Cav.”

            Lilah held her tea cup out, mid-sip. “And what did he say?”

            “Well, he didn’t sound surprised. But he didn’t want me to join. He said that it was dangerous and that he pulled the family out years ago to keep us safe.”

            “From _them_ ,” she said and took a sip.

            “Yeah.”

            “Are you afraid of them?”

            “You’re here. If you’re not, I’m not.”

            Lilah winced. “I’m not afraid. No, not afraid. They are out there, though. And evil. And wishing us harm. That I certainly know.”

            “Would you… er…” Peter fidgeted and put his tea cup down. “Consider coming home?”

            Her answer was immediate. “No.”

            “I-I mean just to visit, I…”

            “No, Pete. I can’t.” Lilah turned her head away from him but remained in her chair.

            “A lot’s changed since…”

            “Pete, please. I...” She sighed.

            He frowned. “Deelia’s doing real well. She and Pi are almost inseparable. She’s going to be VP one day. Dad’s working hard. Got a fellowship again. And I wanted to see you because…” he picked his tea cup back up with a trembling hand. “Well, I’m getting married.”

            Lilah softened. “You are? That’s great, Pete. Is she ok with all this?” Lilah made a small circle with her free hand indicating to the madness that was their heritage.

            “She will be. Astrid’s cool.” He took the cup in both hands. There was a long pause in which Peter watched his sister carefully, waiting. Hoping.

“Pete,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I left the way I did. It wasn’t fair to you or Deelie. Or dad, I suppose, though I think he deserved it a bit. I was scared. I lost my mind for a while and I was scared. I thought about killing myself and then I was hallucinating and, well, I was kind of terrified that maybe I’d inherited some of mom’s crazy genes. I just needed to go, but I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He pursed his lips. “Thanks, that means a lot and I forgive you. I’m just so glad to see you’re ok.” She smiled back for a moment but noticed his brows were pinched. “I have some bad news about mom, though.”

            “Oh?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly.

            “She had a lobotomy a couple years ago after she attacked Deelia and now she’s in a home.”

            “She attacked Deelie?” Lilah whispered.

            “Yeah. Pi took the blows, though. Took us weeks to rebuild the chassis.” He made a face. “Aluminum.”

            Lilah nodded. She built the robot with her father so she knew well that it would have been easy to damage, unlike the 1896 models. “That’s good. I mean, not good, but…” She shuddered. “Is mom a vegetable?”

            “Kind of. She’s awake, just sort of...empty. But every time I’ve seen her, she’s smiling.”

            Lilah pursed her lips and tears rolled down her cheeks. She nodded. She didn’t need to know about the process that lead to her being hospitalized. She knew that her father would not have permitted this to happen if he didn’t think it was the right thing to do. “That’s good. That’s good.”

            “How are you, Lilah?”

            “Good. I have a nice life here. I’m always busy with Cav things, committees, research. There are three levels of labs below this house so when I want to stay home I can. There’s always something new to learn.”

            “Have you found any friends?”

            “ _Yes!_ ” Lilah raised an annoyed eyebrow. “Not many, but I’m not gregarious, you know that. And I have Gilmore as well. Maybe…” she said, looking down at the leaves of tea in her near-empty cup. “Maybe one day I can come visit. I’m just not ready yet.”

 

.x.

            Peter returned home later that evening a little disappointed by the thought that his older sister would most likely not be attending his wedding, but relieved to know she was doing well. He buzzed his father and sister on the intercom and asked them to join him in his study. Silently and without much ado, Alex and Deelia made their way to the room on the south side of the manor house. Deelia closed the door behind them.

            “Well?” Alex asked, folding his arms.

            Deelia grasped the back of a leather chair with one hand. “She’s really there?”

            “Yep.”

            The young woman shook her head. “This is nuts. Kazooland actually exists? Is it as mental as The Jon described?”

            “Not the places I saw. More like a Victorian fantasy land. Lots of weird mech, steam, weird-looking people in fancy clothes.”

            Alex scoffed slightly. “She’s at the Plum Street house, then?”

            “Yeah.” Peter sat on the edge of his desk and smiled softly. “She’s doing well.”

            This didn’t seem to ease either of them. Deelia glared at him. “Did you tell her about mom?”

            “Yes, I did.”

            “And?”

            “She wasn’t surprised. I told her mom attacked you.” Deelia cringed and turned to go. “It’s the truth, Deelie! She deserved to know.”

            “She doesn’t deserve a damned thing,” the young woman spat back. “She didn’t even have the decency to apologize, did she?

            “She said she was sorry to have hurt us,” he shouted, choosing his words carefully. “But she’s not coming back.” Deelia scoffed and stomped out of the room without turning to face him. Peter looked over at his father, but he was looking out the window at the moon. The young man practically snarled as he left him standing there “I can’t say I blame her!”


	14. N'Gretty

**Five Years Later, July 21, 2003 Cavalcadium Dandytown Branch Office**

            “Is there any more unfinished business to bring before the committee?” 33 year old Delilah Moreau-Walter asked the group of ten people gathered around an obsidian-topped table. “Hearing none, I’ll ask for any announcements.” A slender woman with a single horn projecting from her forehead stood, addressed her and announced that there would be a sociable to celebrate the creation of the first portal gun prototype on the following Thursday at her home. Lilah thanked the woman and told the group that the next meeting of the Rifts, Portals, and Wormholes Committee would be held in two months’ time in the same place and adjourned the meeting.

            She was the last to leave room 419 and was surprised to find Georgia Jones squatting just outside the door waiting for her. “This is a change,” she said brightly but the way her friend looked up at her changed her tune. “Everything all right?” she asked and gave her a hand.

            “Not really,” Jones admitted as she stood.

            “Want to get a drink?”

            “Yes!”

They started down the stairs and Lilah hesitated to ask, “is it something you can’t tell me or something you don’t want to?”

            “Both.”

            Lilah hugged the small briefcase she carried to her chest. “Well, you’re not handing me a weapon this time, so that’s good?”

            “Oh, yeah. You’re safe. We’re safe, it’s just the world and the politicians and it just never ends. I can’t see how it’ll ever end…” Jones growled. “Hell, I wish I could talk to you about it. Wish there was some way I could get you on the damned committee! If they’d just listen to me…” They had reached the second floor and were now overlooking the foyer where a commotion was going on. A ring of people circled a young man who was turning around in place and shouting at them. “What’s goin’ on down there?” Jones wondered and they both stopped to gawk.

            “What is he?” Lilah asked, noting his black horns and red tail.

            “Dunno. Looks like a hybrid. Dragon I bet. Look at how even security won’t go near him. No one knows what you can and can’t do to a Real Dragon these days so they’re playing it safe in case he is one.”

            A passing mime stopped and signed to them _‘he looks for alter Cav has. Save his brother.’_

“Alter?” Jones asked. “That’s cryptic.”

            _‘The “morrow’s alter”.’_ The mime signed and shrugged but then gaped and clapped her hands. She signed ‘morrow’s alter’ again and pointed at Lilah.

            “Morrow’s Alter?” Jones repeated.

            Lilah’s eyes widened and they both bolted down the stairs.

 

            She pushed her way to the front of the circle of gawkers. In the center a young man with reptilian features took a defensive position and shouted “I need the Mo-ro-al-ter!” His posture was hunched a bit due to being a toe-walker and his bare feet were decidedly dragon-like. His hands were humanoid but bore short, sharp claws and his skin was mostly human with discrete patches of red scales. His hair was longish, reddish and dreadlocked. “They stole my brother!” he shouted, demanding with a hint of anguish and exhaustion.

            Lilah squared her shoulders. “I am Delilah Moreau-Walter!” she shouted from the edge of the circle and the crowd gasped, finally understanding what he meant. The half-dragon swung around, locked eyes with her and in a few steps bound over to stand within inches of her. She stood her ground. “How can I help?”

            He squinted as he scrutinized the tall, fair skinned woman before him. “It is said the Mo-ro-al-ter is the one who can defeat the Bes-eye who stole my brother.”

            Before Lilah could ask him what he meant, Jones clapped a hand on her shoulder and butted in. “Whoa! Is your brother also a half dragon?”

            “No. He is a dragon yet to hatch.”

            “A dragon egg. Holy moly. Ok. Both of you, come with me!” she cried, beaming from ear to ear. She grabbed the half-dragon by the arm and led him and Lilah away, flipping her kantan open with her free hand. “I’ll take Serendipity for the win, Tom!” she snarked. “Lilah, I’m getting you on that committee!”

 

.x.

            The committee members were understandably chuffed to have been called back into session not an hour after their last meeting, despite the assertions from Jones that she had very important and time-sensitive news for them. “Mr. Chairman,” she began as a short, bearded leprechaun banged a gavel and demanded order.

            “Miss Jones!” he shouted back. “The committee would like to know, I don’t doubt, why you’ve brought two additional persons into our rather private midst?”

            Jones waved her hands in a calming gesture, but could not wipe the smirk from her lips. “Mr. Chairman, this is…” she pointed to the half-dragon standing with his back to the wall, arms tightly folded. “Crap, what’s your name, kid?” There was an audible groan.

            “N’Gretty!” he barked and began to complain about being made to wait.

            “That Dragon for ‘stubborn’?” Jones asked, raising a brow.

            “No!” he exclaimed, looking more than a little flustered. “It means _‘brave’_!”

            Jones shook her head. “Never mind. N’Gretty here is a half-dragon of the real variety and his younger brother, of the _full_ real variety, as well as the yet-to-be-hatched variety, to wit, _a real dragon egg has been stolen by the Beciles_!”

            The room of about a dozen people buzzed with murmurs until the gavel silenced them. “This is very serious indeed,” the chairman allowed.

A mime from the Merveilles delegation raised his hand and signed _‘he must be provoking us to have committed such a crime.’_

A clown from New Pieland leapt up and agreed. “We could be walking into a trap!”

Jones nodded. “Both, probably.”

The Chairman pouted. “That will be enough secrets, thank you! Bringing Miss Moreau-Walter into this by some sort of privileged default is not…”

            “Becile…,” Lilah whispered and took another small step behind Jones.

            Jones reached back and put a hand on her shoulder then cut the chairman off. “N’Gretty believes that it is she who can fight them—she who is backed by _us_. Time is of the essence, Mr. Chairman. I move that Delilah Moreau-Walter and the Half-Dragon N’Gretty be accepted as non-voting members of this committee with all appropriate security clearances.”

            He growled, but followed the rules of order and after a few minutes of discussion the motion was passed. “Miss Moreau-Walter, Mr. N’Gretty. This is the Asininia Monitoring Committee made up of three members of the Council of Nine, two members of parliament from New Pieland, two senators from Merveilles and, well, until now, two representatives from Verk, all of which are members of the Cavalcadium. As you are non-voting members, this does not change the balance of power as we have just previously discussed.” He gestured to a woman on his left and she handed Lilah a dossier. At the same time, he tapped a round, blue button on the table in front of him and a hidden projector came to life, showing a map of Kazooland and focusing on the area surrounding Asininia. “We have been watching a disturbing development for the last few years. The Beciles have apparently developed a weapon of mass destruction and are planning to use it to attack New Pieland. A recent report from May indicates that the weapon is fully functional and ready to use.” He stared at Lilah. “This weapon is a beam cannon designed to convert biological material into machine parts, a nasty affair which will cause loss of life on a massive scale, not to mention aid Asininia in a take-over the land they so covet.” The committee grumbled its agreement. “Given that a protected half-dragon has accused the Beciles of theft of a real dragon egg—a High Crime recognized by the sovereign nations here represented—I would like to ask for a motion to proceed immediately with Plan Theta.”

            Jones appeared pleased, N’Gretty raised a brow, but seemed otherwise glad to see things going in his favor, and Lilah looked as if she were going to vomit as the committee moved to proceed. It wasn’t until the gavel came down that Jones noticed the pallor of her friend’s face. “You ok?” she asked.

Lilah’s hands trembled but she took a deep breath and composed herself. She rolled up the dossier and gripped it tightly. “I wish to be involved in action against the Beciles. I want to go there. I want to see them taken down with my own eyes.”

Jones made a face. “I don’t know if that’s such a hot idea, Lilah, I mean, you’re not a fighter…”

“I will see this end!” she shouted.

N’Gretty stepped up to stand next to Lilah. “I will accompany the Mo-ro-al-ter who will get my brother back!”

The room buzzed and the chairman picked up his gavel, gave it a tired look and held it up. “I will entertain a motion to suspend business and reconvene after lunch to discuss and finalize Plan Theta!” The motion was made a passed and the gavel thudded down.

Lilah unclenched the dossier and handed it back to the woman who gave it to her. On the page which she had opened it was a fuzzy, odd-angle image of a skinny, black-haired man labeled “Only known photo of King Mortimer Becile taken abt. December 1999”.

 

.x.

            After a long and intense series of meetings, Plan Theta was ready. The Cavalcadium would send its automaton soldiers to Merveilles, being the closest in proximity to Asininia, and join the attack by sea. New Pieland, with its superior air power, would lead the charge in the skies. N’Gretty, Jones and Lilah would be sent as a commando team through the Snornian rift and scale the jutting cliffs along the back of the Becile’s black castle, entering through a sewage drain 100 feet from the water.

The three got as much rest as they could, got their gear together and the next day emerged through the rift under the cover of darkness. Jones’ kantan vibrated and the signal was given that the fleets from Merveilles were on their way and would be spotted by the enemy in short order. They boarded a small submersible craft, powered by green matter so as to better disguise them, and blasted toward the Asininian coast. Thanks to Jones’ cunning and N’Gretty’s strength, they were able to climb the cliff face and easily enter the sewage drain—a six foot wide hole in the rock from which waste coursed like molasses from the castle, befouling the ocean for miles around.

“Are you _certain_ there’s an entrance down here?” Lilah repeated as the three crept slowly and carefully along a narrow pathway only a foot or so higher than the river of nearly black, oozing, terrible-smelling waste fluid.

            “Wherever this crap is coming from, there’s a way in.” Jones pointed out.

            “Fantastic.”    

“The stench of this waste is beyond my comprehension!” N’Gretty shouted and sneezed several times. “I may die before we get there,” he said. “This smell is… is…”

            The older woman rolled her eyes. “Shitty. The word you’re looking for is ‘shitty’.”

            “Georgia!” Lilah was about to scold her for teaching the half-dragon dirty words, but Jones stopped, pointed up and put her gloved finger to her lips. The others looked where she shone a pen-light on a turn-wheel at the top of a ladder just ahead of them. As quietly as they could manage (and with N’Gretty stifling his sneezes as best he could) they ascended the ladder, opened a hatch and entered the castle.

The room they found themselves in was empty of people and appeared to be part of the inner-workings of the heating system. They wove around huge boilers that made horrible clanging noises and hissed with steam leaks until they found an exit which took them to a dimly-lit hallway. Using a compass to guide them, they continued north toward the heart of the castle for some time before hearing metallic footsteps and ducked into a room to the right which was blessedly vacant. The room was as dank and as cold as the hall and featured six doors, three on each side of a center hallway. Green-flamed gas lights flickered next to each heavy, metal door. N’Gretty wrinkled his nose again. “Another stench. There is but one human in this room and it is very near death.”

            “This is a prison,” Jones said and frowned. “Damned Beciles.”

            Something caught Lilah’s attention and she stepped away from them and walked on tip-toe down between the doors.

            “Lilah, what are you…?” Jones hissed as she noticed her movement.

            Lilah stopped in front of one of the doors and held her breath as she listened for a faint sound, which repeated a few times. With her ear practically to the door, she recognized it as a cough. “N’Gretty,” she whispered urgently. “Get this door open.”  
            “What? Have you gone nuts?” Jones asked, joining them at the door.

            N’Gretty nodded. “You want this the quiet-way or the loud-way?”

            “The _now-_ way,” Lilah replied.  
            He nodded again and grasped the door handle. “Loud it is.”

            “Wait!” Jones barked. “There’s key’s right there!” she pointed to a ring of keys on the opposite wall. In a few quick motions, N’Gretty rolled his eyes, snatched them, turned and unlocked the door.

            “The _quiet-now-way_ , who knew?” he said, shrugging and opened the door.

            Lilah rushed in and gasped at the sight of an emaciated, bearded man lying on a cot against the far wall, a bowl of uneaten and moldered food sat on a chair to the right. His pajama-like clothes were stained and faded. His green eyes turned toward them but didn’t seem to see them at all.

            “Oh my god, Morton,” Lilah whispered, went down on her knees and with trembling hands gently stroked his matted hair away from his ashen face.

            “ _Morton?_ ” Jones asked, shocked. “Lilah, are you serious?”

N’Gretty frowned. “This man should be dead.”

            “No!” Tears came to the young woman’s eyes.

            The half-dragon folded his arms raised a brow. “You wish him to live?”

            Lilah shot him an incredulous look. “Yes!”

            He pushed her aside and propped Mortimer up in his left arm. With his right, N’Gretty removed a small bottle of purple fluid from his belt and with his thumb, uncorked it. “Drink this and live.” He shoved the bottle between the man’s cracked lips and forced half of its contents down his throat then let him fall back on the cot. Mortimer sputtered, coughing and gagging. His eyes widened and he gasped for air then rolled to his side and curled into a ball, shaking with spasms. Lilah cried out in alarm, but N’Gretty clamped a hand on her shoulder, reassuring her that this was part of the process.

            Suddenly, he stopped moving and relaxed, taking a huge breath of air and letting it out slowly and evenly. When he uncurled, his complexion was pink, his face was full and it appeared for all intents and purposes that he had just had a good night’s sleep, followed by a quick jog and a large meal.

            “Holy crap, ‘Gretty what the hell _is_ that?” Jones demanded.

            “Magic healing potion.”

            Jones gave him a look.

            “What? Hello? _Dragon?_ ”

            Mortimer sat up and stared at his visitors. “Delilah! Miss Jones! And… my savior, apparently. What is your name, good sir?”

            “N’Gretty the Half-Dragon!” he said proudly.

            “ _N’Gretty_ …” Mortimer repeated. “Stubborn?”

            He rolled his eyes and made to correct him, but then shrugged. “Stubborn.”

            Jones crowed. “Ha! I knew it!”

            “I am forever in your debt. To what do I owe this decidedly last-minute rescue? Surely the Cavalcadium has not suddenly developed interest in political unrest?"

Jones laughed. "Well, that's not far from the truth, but we didn't know you were here, Morton."

"Ah, I see.” He stood and tried to search his former lover's eyes, but she had turned away from him. “Miss Jones, could it be that you have not been informed that I am in fact Mortimer Becile?” he asked.

“ _WHAT?_ ” Jones cried. “You’re…then…? Lilah? A little ‘splaining, please?”

N’Gretty snarled and shot an accusatory look at Lilah. “If I had known this, I would have let him _die_!”

            Lilah hugged herself. “When he was in Verk I didn’t know. When I found out, I rejected him.”

            “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jones whined. “A Becile infiltrating the Cav is not to be taken lightly!”

            “You never told anyone?” Mortimer asked quietly.

            She winced. “I knew he didn’t mean any harm. I thought about it long and hard, but I decided it wouldn’t have done anyone any good. Not me, and not the Cav.”

            N’Gretty snorted angrily for having been ignored. “Why did you make me save him? He stole my brother!”

            Mortimer cocked a brow at him “I did what now?”

            Lilah sighed. “No, he couldn’t have. When I saw the picture of ‘Mortimer Becile’ the Cav had I knew something was up. He didn’t fit the description, but Morton’s brother Ulysses did. Or rather, Mortimer's brother Eustace. Right?”

            “Correct.” Mortimer folded his arms. “As soon as I returned here my brother locked me up and assumed my identity. What’s he done? Kidnapped someone?”

            A distant sound like thunder rolled across the castle making them all look to the ceiling.

            “‘Fraid it’s a bit more complicated than that,” Jones said urgently and tapped her foot. “Lilah. Can we trust him?”

            She forced herself to look him in the eyes for the first time in seven years. “Yes.”

            “Right. Let’s talk and walk, shall we?” Jones suggested and the four of them left the cell and headed toward the interior of the castle.


	15. The One-Day War

Jones followed just a pace behind and at Mortimer’s left elbow as they jogged through the hallways and upstairs, going where he led them. “Mort, we need to find a dragon egg, any ideas?”

            “It doesn’t ring a bell, but I have been out of the loop for, what is it? Seven years?” Lilah cringed. “Did my brother actually steal a dragon egg? He must have wanted to… Oh dear.” Mortimer stopped in his tracks. “Oh, oh dear.”

            Jones stopped, spun on her heel and hissed at him. “What?”

            “The sounds we hear, I assume that we are under attack, yes?”

            Jones nodded. “Yes. New Pieland, Merveilles and Verk combined forces.”

            “And they used the high-crime of theft of a dragon egg as an excuse to do so?”

            “Yes.”

            “You do know you walked into a trap, yes?”

            “Yes.”

            “Y… I’m sorry, _yes_?”

            Lilah leaned against a wall and stared at Mortimer’s bare feet. N’Gretty ground his teeth loudly and bounced, flexing his hands in and out of fists.

            “Yes,” Jones repeated. “We’ve been keeping an eye on _that weapon_ for some time now.”

            Lilah looked up at Jones. “What weapon?”

            “Eustace and our father, Cedric started working on it before I left. A particle beam weapon capable of rendering bio-organic matter into machine. A robot-making ray gun they were calling a ‘Confetti Cannon’. It was not…” he closed his eyes as the image of Sheng-Xi being killed flashed in his mind. “It was not fully functional when I was locked away. I assume Eustace has completed it by now and if he’s lured you here he intends to use it. Thousands of lives are at stake. We must find it and destroy it immediately.”

            Lilah stomped her foot down. “That was something the Beciles were working on? Why didn’t you tell me!”

            Jones grinned sheepishly. “Same reason you didn’t tell me about Mort, I guess. It was need-to-know and I was trying to protect you.”

            “Georgia!” Lilah shouted and the older woman shushed her.

            “You want to tell them they got company inside, too? Keep it down!”

Mortimer looked left and right. “I imagine there are few if any humanoid staff anymore..., mostly automatons, and it would seem (if the empty halls are any indication) that they are all on the battlefield, presently.”

“Your brother even pulled the guys guarding the prison, huh?”

            “No, there weren’t any.” He pursed his lips in thought for a moment, noticed the half-dragon twitching with nervous energy to his right then switched gears. “So, we need to find a dragon egg, do we?”

            N’Gretty punched his own palm. “Yes! Let’s go, already!”

Jones nodded. “You know where it might be?”

            “If there is one, it would most likely be on display in the throne room with the other trophies.” Mortimer turned and jogged down the hall. “Come! The throne room is this way!”

 

.x.

            When at last they neared the large steel doors to the throne room, the four stopped and hid behind a buttress to plan their next move. The sound of a man’s voice shouting commands and the din of dozens of metal soldiers moving about could be heard from within.

            “What are we up against in there, Mort?”

“My brother, probably seated on the throne, which is also a command terminal, and by the sound of it a few dozen automatons.”

“Where’s the weapon?” Jones asked. “I’m gonna go on ahead and destroy it.”

“Georgia…” Lilah whispered, concerned, but her friend held up a hand as if to say, ‘you know I can do it, so relax’.

Mortimer pointed toward a staircase a dozen yards away. “I’m eighty-percent certain of where it is. Up there two flights, make a right, down the hall. On your right you’ll see it from the windows. At the end of the hall there’s a door to a balcony overlooking a launch pad. The last time I saw it, it was on the balcony. One can hit many invading targets from that vantage point.”

She nodded. “Here, take the Cricket,” she said, pulling a small firearm from her satchel. “Can you handle your brother?” Mortimer bowed his head slightly and said nothing. “Mort?” His complexion paled. “Oh crap, N’Gretty, this some sort of side effect of that snake oil you gave him?”

“Snake oil!” he exclaimed, offended. “No on both counts!”

Lilah gasped as Mortimer raised his head, his face was as white as paper and his eyes and lips were black. His scraggly reddish beard and long, matted hair gave what was otherwise a common sight in Kazooland a rather frightening aspect. His expression was placid and he smiled thinly.

Jones smirked. “I had heard a rumor that Mortimer Becile’s mother was a mime.”

Lilah gaped. “You’re a half-mime?”

“Hey,” N’Gretty barked.  “Being half just means you’re fifty percent better than everyone else.” Everyone stared at him. “What? It’s what my mother always told me!”

“But,” Lilah pouted. “Why didn’t you use your powers to get out of your cell?”

Mortimer pointed to his lips and with quick, fluid motions mimed ‘my brother killed all the living guards.’

Lilah shook her head, not understanding sign language and Jones winced. “Never mind. No time to explain. Lilah, you got your goober rounds and stuff?”

“And this,” she said and opened her pack slightly to reveal the stock of another non-lethal she had brought with her.

“The portal gun? Jesus, Lilah that’s hasn’t been tested enough yet!”

“I promise I’ll only use it if I have to. I believe in my work, Georgia.”

“I do too, kid, but be careful. Ok, so—” Jones was cut off as the sounds of a fight reached their ears. Her eyes darted around and they all saw that one of the doors to the throne room was open and one of their number was missing. “Where’s N’Gretty?” The noises of battle grew louder and she groaned. “New plan. Get in there. Secure the egg. Catch up with me. Go!”

Mortimer and Lilah nodded and ran through the doors as Jones dashed up the stairs.

 

.x.

            Jones powered up the steps two at a time and when she reached the top of the first flight of stairs she encountered a group of a dozen or so Becile automatons. The skeletal, black machines billowed puffs of dark, oily smoke as they marched toward her and engaged short range weapons of various types from chainsaws to foot-long switchblades.

“Boy, you guys sure are cute,” Jones said as she drew a handgun and fired particle beam blasts at them. Her aim was good and she landed several head shots but only two robots seemed to be slightly put off balance by the fire. “Ok, I take that back! How about I waste some plasma on ya?” With quick movements, she holstered the small handgun and withdrew a brass gun that looked like the love child of a 57 magnum and a super-soaker. She squeezed off a shot that blazed with a white beam and disintegrated the chest of one of the robots, but as she loaded the next cartridge the rest of them were dangerously closer. Jones cursed, fired the next shot and rethought her plan. They weren’t very fast, but there were just too many of them to take out before they reached her. If she could just slow them down somehow, she thought, and grinned. Reloading the 57, she unhooked the coiled leather at her hip and let it fly. The whip wrapped around the neck of the closest robot and one quick tug brought him crashing down in front of several others that tripped over it. “Ha!” Jones cried and fired a shot at a pile of four robots, ashing them. The others stopped and took a few steps back. “Yeah, that’s right. I gotcha now, you coal-guzzling creeps.” She cracked the whip and they took another step back.

 

.x.

In the throne room, the scene that greeted Lilah and Mortimer was chaotic and alarming. N’Gretty spun as if dancing in melee combat with dozens of the same sort of battle robots that Jones faced upstairs. His claws ripped through their metal chassis easily, but he was still only one man. On a dais above him, standing in front of the throne, Eustace Becile glowered down on the scene. He wore a light suit of black and green armor and an impressively-horned helmet. He caught sight of his brother running toward him and his annoyed expression flashed to panic for a moment before he touched a button on the left side of the helmet. “Mortimer?” Eustace shouted.

 _“Cease and desist, Eustace!”_ Mortimer commanded. Lilah and N’Gretty cringed as his powerful, echoing voice reverberated in their bones.

Confident that his helmet was functioning and blocking Mortimer’s ability, Eustace laughed. “Too late! I don’t know how you are here, but it matters not! Let me show you my latest creation!” He pressed buttons on the right arm of the throne and a tall door on their right slid open. Black smoke poured from the opening and a monstrous, metallic cry sounded from inside. The few automatons remaining immediately ignored N’Gretty and turned on the humans. Eustace grinned and made a hasty exit through a concealed door just behind the throne.

N’Gretty growled at the robots to stop ignoring him. Mortimer gnashed his teeth. “My ability does not work against them and I don’t doubt Eustace is heading for the very weapon Miss Jones is after!”

“I think we have bigger problems...” Lilah gaped at the huge door as a giant dinosaur mecha stomped out into the throne room.

N’Gretty gawked up at the black robot with the razor-sharp spines and green, glowing eyes. He grinned to split his face. “Go get him!” he barked, “I’ve got this!”

Lilah tried to argue with him but Mortimer nodded and bolted for the secret door. The mecha roared and belched white flames quickly convincing Lilah to catch up to him. Mortimer slammed his fist against the flat, featureless doorway. “He’s locked it from within. We’ll have to go around. This way!” he cried and they jumped off the dais and charged toward the side door, opposite N’Gretty and his mechanized foe. Lilah stole a glance at him as she darted through the door, but what she saw didn’t immediately make sense. It seemed to her that N’Gretty was fairly larger than he had been moments before. She shook her head and chose to focus on following Mortimer, instead.

“We’ll have to take the route Miss Jones took,” he explained as they ran. “Eustace will beat us to the weapon.”

“But maybe Georgia beat him there!”

“We must hope.”

 

.x.

            **A few minutes earlier**

            Georgia Jones sprinted down the hall, having spotted the weapon just where Mortimer guessed it would still be on a large balcony overlooking the battle in progress. On the already blackened plains that stretched out from the tall castle walls Becile automatons and joint-forces robots battled for control of Asininia. More of Merveilles’ ships drew in from the east and New Pieland’s airships approached from the west. Gun turrets fired on them from the rocky cliffs on all sides. Ships went down and smoke filled the already heavily polluted air.

Jones scrambled through the arched doorway to the balcony and gawked at the Confetti Cannon. The balcony was not a large one, barely enough room for the massive armament it contained which resembled a heavy surface-to-air gun except that the barrel was short and the gunner’s seat was well-appointed with leather and precious metals. She leapt up into the seat and set about trying to dismantle it, but none of the controls were well-labeled and time was running out. “Ok,” she muttered to herself. “If I wanted to sabotage a bio-matter conversion ray quickly _without_ blowing myself sky-high…?” She rubbed her gloved hands and had an epiphany. Quickly, Jones pulled the gloves and her jacket off as she leapt down from the seat. “Holy crap I hope this works,” she said, kissed the jacket and stuffed it and the gloves into the barrel. Just as she leapt up into the gunner’s seat again and figured out how to crane the barrel skyward, she heard footsteps pounding toward her. A particle beam narrowly missed her head as Eustace entered through the arched entryway.

            “You get off my precious baby this instant,” he growled, holding his artificial arm out, showing her the aperture of the weapon in his palm and stepping cautiously toward her. Jones raised her hands and slowly dismounted.

            “I was just checking it out, pretty damned impressive weapon you got there.”

            “Isn’t it _just_ ,” Eustace quickly agreed. “Do you know that until this moment I have been the only one to _ever_ sit in that seat?” he snapped, testily.

            Jones chuckled. “Ya don’t say?”

            “I do!” Eustace prepared to fire at her, but shouts and the echoing sound of more people racing toward them distracted him for an instant, long enough for Jones to lash out with her whip. It circled around his artificial arm, but it was too powerful for her to pull him off balance. Instead, he grasped the whip and engaged the hydraulic muscles, pulling her toward him. With his real arm he punched her square in the jaw, knocking her out. To add insult to injury, Eustace grasped her upper arm with his false one, picked her up and threw her over the rail. Jones landed a floor below on her side and lay motionless.

           

.x.

            Mortimer pulled Lilah into a hidden doorway as soon as they saw Jones go down. “He’s seen us, we’ll have to go this way!” he shouted, having given up using his mime-half once it failed to stop his brother. Lilah’s heart was in her throat and she clutched her bag full of non-lethal weapons tightly as she followed. They emerged on the level below and to the right of the weapon. Jones’ prone form was around the curved bowl of the balcony to the left of the weapon.

            “How do we get up there?’ Lilah asked.

            “I don’t know, he’ll be waiting for us now.”

            Lilah looked to the door they had emerged from, almost invisible in its closed position and she dove into her bag. “I know how.” She pulled a white, cylindrical object from the bag and slid her hand into its grip. “You go up and surprise Eustace. I’ll go find Georgia.”

            “Delilah, this is far too dangerous…” his eyes were soft and pleading.

            She frowned. “We have to stop him.”

            He straightened up and took a deep breath before nodding in agreement. As Lilah paused to gather her courage, she took in the absurdity of Mortimer’s appearance, his long, matted hair, gnarly beard and tattered and filthy striped green pajamas in stark contrast to the conviction that now burned in his eyes. “I will,” he said.

 

.x.

            Eustace was caught by surprise as a shot grazed his shoulder from below. He fired a blast from his palm at the woman streaking across the lower level but missed. She changed weapons, dropping the cricket and using the free right hand to hold up her left and fired just to his right. The feint worked. Eustace fired a few times, but missed the moving target again. “You’re too late anyway!” he crowed and mounted the Confetti Cannon. He adjusted the barrel so that it pointed at the airships. “Once I’ve taken out these insignificant flies, I shall take this show on the road to New Pieland! Then what we have always wanted will be ours!” As he leaned forward to adjust a setting, he caught a glimpse of something moving in the reflective surface of one of the dials and only just avoided having his helmet ripped off. “Mortimer!” Eustace bellowed, swinging his artificial arm at his brother, who caught it and held his ground. “How many times do I have to destroy you? Alright, one last time, but this is it!”

            _“Enough, Eustace!”_ he growled back. His face white once more, though his plan to remove the helmet that impeded his ability backfired. “Let it go!”

            Eustace laughed as he fought his brother. “You pompous ass! _You_ let it go! This! Is! _Mine_!”

 

            Below them, Lilah succeeded in reaching Jones and carefully checked to see if she had been badly injured. There was a sizable lump on her forehead and her left arm was bent in a familiar way. “Georgia! Georgia, wake up!” Lilah cried, keeping one eye on the fight above her. A way to rouse her friend very quickly and effectively came to mind so she stood up, took the woman’s hand in hers, put her heel in her armpit and pulled her arm in toward her body.

            “Yeeeeeeeeeow!” Jones cursed several times, blinking back tears as her shoulder was reset. “Lilah, what the…?” Quickly she grasped the situation and jumped to her feet, rubbing the shoulder and looked to the weapon above them.

            Eustace was climbing back into the seat of the cannon. Mortimer’s hand could be seen protruding from the rails of the balcony. “Oh crap, is Mort up there? We gotta get him clear!”

            “Clear of what?”  
            Eustace flipped switches and engaged levers and the cannon began to hum ominously. Jones made a sign with her hands rather than give her plan away. She mouthed one word: _‘Boom!’_ and Lilah pulled the portal gun back out. “I still hate him, Georgia,” she said quickly. “But I just can’t let him die.” She shot an entrance against the curved wall next to her and took a few steps into Eustace’s line of sight in order to fire the exit. It stuck against the wall a few feet off the ground to the right of the archway. Eustace saw the shot, but not knowing the nature of the gun assumed it was a miss and cackled as he sighted an airship full of soldiers. Jones and Lilah jumped down onto the balcony, raced to Mortimer’s body, each took an arm and hauled him back through to the first floor just as the cannon started to whine.

            “What’s happening?” Eustace shouted. He saw the meters pin as the process was balled up in the barrel, obstructed by Jones’ jacket and gloves. The leather transmuted into machine parts and caused the beam to back up on itself. “My baby!” he cried as it exploded underneath him. As shower of glittering metal bits and sparks rained down around the three heroes who huddled as close to the wall as they could, protected from the larger bits of gun, well-appointed gunner’s seat, and obliterated human.

            The cacophony of guns and explosions echoed around them as the battle continued not far from the castle walls. Mortimer came to just in time to see the fallout and gaped along with the women at the scene for a moment. He sighed and caught Lilah’s eye and wanted nothing more in that instant than to take her up into his arms and squeeze her but over her shoulder a few yards away he caught sight of half of his late brother. Mortimer was the first one on his feet. He limped a little and stopped a few feet from him, balled his fists and heaved a sigh. “I must return to the throne. From there I can stop this senselessness.”

            Jones dusted herself, held her wounded left arm with her right and made a face. “I’ll stay here and…” She made a gesture with her chin toward Eustace’s remains. “Lilah, you go with him. I’ll be ok here.”

            Mortimer glanced over and saw her shudder. “Ok,” she said, not making eye-contact and pulled a disabling gun from her bag. “I’ll help N’Gretty.” They nodded to each other and split up.

Jones sat back down and flipped open her kantan. “This is Georgia Jones, the WMD has been disabled. Repeat…”


	16. The End of the Day

The roaring grew louder as they approached the throne room and Lilah jogged to the entryway. Inside, the smoking remains of the giant mecha dinosaur lay in a few pieces against the far wall and standing above this, bellowing victoriously, stood a thirty-foot red-and-black dragon.

            “Is that…?” Mortimer gaped. “What’s happened to him!”

            “N’Gretty!” Lilah called out to the dragon but it raged on, stomping on the remains of Becile automatons. Mortimer pulled her back around the corner with him. Quickly, his mime-half came to the surface again and he signed to her to stay hidden. “But…!” He shook his head and held her by the shoulders as the full extent of his powers were enabled. With red lips, Mortimer gave her a small smile. “Let me try?” he asked softly. She nodded and Mortimer jogged back toward the dragon.

            _“N’Gretty! Calm yourself! It’s over!”_ he bellowed. Lilah winced as the supernatural sound echoed through the chamber. N’Gretty turned his attention to the mime and roared back at him. His eyes were intense and animal-like with no recognition in them whatsoever. Realizing his mistake, Mortimer dashed back around the corner and hunkered down with Lilah and a fireball curled around the small doorway to their left.

“Ah,” Mortimer said and let his ability recede once more. “The beast cannot understand my words, and thus my powers cannot penetrate.”

Lilah gave him a wilting look. “Well, if _you_ can do something that stupid, so can _I_ ,” she said and took deep breath before jumping up and running back into the throne room despite Mortimer’s protestations. The dragon had turned its attention back to the still-smoking remains of the mecha. Taking one of its limbs in its claws, it gnawed on it like a dog with a chew-toy.

“N’Gretty! It’s me, Lilah!” she called. The nearly six-foot long head full of sharp teeth swung down and breathed on her, snarling and dripping with drool and oil. “It’s ok. You did good!” Mortimer slowly and carefully emerged behind her, and as Lilah spread her arms out wide he did the same. “We’re your friends, remember?” she said, indicating to Mortimer and herself and smiling in a friendly manner at it.

            The dragon took a long sniff then snorted, shook its head and started to shrink. Its features became more humanoid as it did and soon the dreadlocked half-dragon stood in the center of the throne room where the immense dragon had been only moments before. Lilah quickly averted her eyes and went crimson. Mortimer suppressed a surprised chuckle and advised “er, N’Gretty, humans aren’t accustomed to seeing other people stark naked. You might want to… er…”

            The half-dragon looked down and shrugged. “Humans are weird,” he said, sauntered over to one of the many green-and-black banners hanging from the wall, yanked it down, tore it in half and tied it around his middle. “Better?”

            “Lovely. Color suits you. Delilah, that was entirely foolhardy and incredibly impressive work.”

            She grinned sheepishly and let out a relieved sigh. “Now, if only we can find your brother’s egg, we’ll be in good shape.”

            His face lit up with joy and he pointed to a stand behind the throne. “He’s right over there!” He bounded off to collect the foot-tall black egg from its pedestal.

            Mortimer turned to the young woman and took a deep breath. "Do you have a way to communicate with the allied forces?” Lilah nodded and held up her wrist to show him the communicator. “May I?” he asked while reaching out for it. She removed it and handed it to him slowly. “Thank you.” He took it and walked to the throne. “Oh, where’s N’Gretty gone again?”

            Lilah looked around. “No idea. The egg is gone, too. Oh, dear…”

            “If he’s up to no good, that’s just fine at this point.” Mortimer’s face turned white as he seated himself on the throne. In a few moments his lips were crimson again and he simultaneously pressed a button on the right armrest and the talk button on the communicator. “This is Mortimer Ignatius Becile, rightful King of Asininia speaking,” his empowered voice echoed through the hall. “I hereby surrender my kingdom. I urge the forces of Asininia previously following my late half-brother Eustace to _stand down peaceably at once_. I also pray the allied forces receive this message and also _put down your weapons_. _Let there be no more meaningless bloodshed_. I repeat…” he said and reiterated his plea laced with a benign command. When he had finished he stood, let his mime-half recede once more, looked around the room at the destruction and descended the throne—a tired, dirty, bedraggled man in tattered clothes who never-the-less exuded authority and righteousness. Almost instantly the sounds of fighting outside died down and the room was nearly silent. “My power is called ‘Undeniable Persuasion’. When engaged, the words I speak in that tone must be obeyed by all who hear them.” He rubbed a sore elbow nervously. “I dislike it, greatly.”

“Then you could have…?” she muttered. At any point, he could have used his power on her, on her friends, on the Cavalcadium, but he had refrained. Lilah’s communicator chirped urgently and when Mortimer handed it to her she silenced it.

“Morton… I mean, Mortimer, I…” she glanced away from him and trained her eyes on the floor.

            “Delilah,” he said softly. “I’m still rather upset with you.”

            She squeezed her eyes shut. “I am so sorry…” she whispered.

            He balled his hands into fists. “I loved you, _truly_ loved you and you said that you loved me, yet you couldn’t find it in your heart to trust me.”

She pursed her lips together before answering. “I _can’t_.”

            “Even now? Even after knowing that I have been through seven years of _hell_?” His voice was calm, but edged with frustration.

            Lilah turned and paced a few feet away. “I am so sorry that happened to you but there’s no way I could have known that that’s what happened. However...” She turned and faced him and he was taken aback at the smoldering anger she projected. “Our families have hated each other for decades because _your_ family won’t let one man’s broken heart go. People have _died_ and I have been raised to live in fear for my life of your name! And the worst part? You Beciles killed my best friends--my brothers! I was _devastated_ when I lost them!” her voice cracked, “and I cannot forgive you or your family for that, _ever_.”

            He raised an astounded brow. “We killed whom?”

            The look she gave him could have frozen hell. “July twentieth, 1991,” she spat.

            “‘91...” Mortimer stared at her, trying to think back. “Oh, the musical automatons?”

            Tears came to Lilah’s eyes and she folded her arms around herself tightly. “They were my great-great grandfather’s love letter to my great-great grandmother, but more importantly they were my _only_ friends.”

            Mortimer frowned, remembering what she had told him seven years ago. “Your friends, the ones you lost… I’m so sorry. I can only say in my defense that it was not I who plotted to do so, neither was I involved in their destruction. My father was killed when…” he began to explain when they were interrupted by a loud clanging that echoed through the chamber. Their attention was pulled to N’Gretty, standing in the back of the room having come from a secret door which had slammed shut behind him. He had a large tapestry full of gold and gems tied up over his shoulder. His brother’s egg was carefully wrapped and nestled in a small gilt treasure chest slung around his neck in a sling of fine silk. He had a black, steel lock-box tucked under one arm and his horns stuck proudly through a platinum crown on his head. “What?” he shouted. “Hello? _Dragon_!!”

            Mortimer waved his hand. “Take what you will.”

            “I came only for my brother, but this was all where _this_ was and it was calling out to me,” he said, hitching the steel box higher on his hip.

            “You don’t need to excuse yourself, it’s no longer mine, anyway,” Mortimer tried to explain.

            “I do not make excuses!” N’Gretty shouted, offended. “I’m telling you, this called out to me. _‘Help! Help! Get us out of here!’”_ he said in a small voice from the corner of his mouth. “Like that. Whatever is inside must be a rare magic item!” His eyes widened and he dropped the tapestry full of treasure on the ground with a loud jangling thud and turned his attention to the lock-box. Mortimer and Lilah approached him skeptically. “Let’s see... Hm, the lock is not enchanted. Easy!” N’Gretty flipped the lock open with one claw as if it were a twist-tie. The sight inside delighted him. “Oooooh, pretty! Whatever it is.” He turned the box around and showed its contents to the pair.

            Lilah shouted in alarm when she saw the blue spheres nestled in black velvet, glowing brightly. She looked quickly to Mortimer who was just as wide-eyed and amazed as she was to see them. She reached out slowly, her hands trembling. Mortimer warned her not to touch them but she whispered that not only was she acclimated to Blue Matter from birth, but that she’d learned some new tricks thanks to the Cavalcadium’s Blue Matter Committee. Her hands hovered over the crystal spheres and she laughed through her tears. “I can hear harmony…” She sang softly. “ _That’ll be the way home…!_ ” Lilah closed her eyes, rested her fingertips on all three of them and she glowed as the energy flowed through her.

 

            When she opened her eyes, three amorphous forms floated before her in a blue haze. “Guys!” she shouted. “Jon, Spine, Rabbit!” As their names were called, they became a bit more solid, more humanoid. Their voices came to her as if carried on the wind, but she could hear them and identify them and her heart soared. “It’s ok. You’re safe. We’re going home!”

 

After only ten seconds Lilah pulled her fingers away and as she shook her hands out her body stopped glowing.

N’Gretty closed the lid and handed the box to her. “Looks like you found eggs of your own,” he said softly.

She nodded and hugged the box to her chest tightly. “Morton...”

He shook his head in disbelief. “I thought they’d been destroyed when my father was killed. Eustace must have stashed them in the treasury.”

“Killed? He tried to tamper with them? After what happened in 1950?”

Mortimer nodded. “He thought he’d found a way around what went wrong. I had a coughing fit, as I recall, and he shooed me from the lab. Damned affliction saved my life. Speaking of which,” he took a very deep breath, held it for a moment and let it go as strongly as he could. “N’Gretty! Is this permanent? I’ve not been able to breathe like that since… well, never, actually!”

He grinned wide and tapped the half-full bottle at his hip. “It makes you all better. Even old ailments.”

“Remarkable!” Mortimer stroked his beard and focused on the power cores again. “Delilah, do you think you can restore them to their chassis?”

Lilah nodded, grinned, and wiped tears from her face. Soon, the sound of many footsteps could be heard echoing through the halls around them.

“What now?” N’Gretty bristled and put his back to his friends.

“It’s alright, N’Gretty. Delilah?” Mortimer stepped toward her and his eyes softened. He spoke quickly and quietly. “The thing that kept you from opening your heart to me has been returned to you and you now know that I had nothing to do with this and that I have nothing against your family or its name.”

Lilah tucked the steel case under her left arm and nodded but kept her eyes on the floor. “It has, and I do. I’m so sorry I put you through all this.”

Mortimer touched her face and lifted her chin so that he could see her grey eyes. “I love you, Delilah Moreau-Walter,” he said quietly, “and for that reason I forgive you. I would very much like to win your love again, but…” he said and smiled wistfully, “I’ve also always wanted to do what was right.” He took his hand away slowly, caressing her cheek and wiping the tears with his thumb as he did. “And for the first time in my life, I will be able to act on that impulse.” Lilah trembled and clenched her jaw tightly as he raised his arms above his head. She stared at him, confused by the gesture of submission until the allied soldiers filed into the room, surrounded them and aimed their weapons at the King of Asininia.

N’Gretty pulled Lilah away from the scene as Georgia Jones pushed her way to the front of the wall of soldiers and shouted at a few who were handling Mortimer roughly. “You will treat this man with respect!” she barked. Her eyes glanced over to Lilah and N’Gretty quickly and apologetically. “King Mortimer Becile, on behalf of the United Forces Against Asininia, I place you under arrest.”

            Mortimer lowered his hands and held them out for the restraints a soldier had produced. “I relent,” he said clearly.

 

.x.

            N’Gretty walked with Lilah out of the throne room and comforted her as best he could. “That is a _true man_ ,” he muttered. “There is nothing you can do, other than be proud of him.” She nodded, clutching the box holding the souls of her best friends.  “But there is this,” the half-dragon chimed as he hefted his sack full of spoils onto his shoulder. “We got treasure!” He patted the sling with his brother’s egg in it for emphasis.

            “Yes,” she agreed, chin down, eyes trained on the carpet just ahead of her plodding feet. “I know.”

            As they rounded a corner, their progress was impeded by a rather colorful contingent of soldiers from Merveilles. “Halt!” their captain shouted. N’Gretty snarled, but Lilah touched his arm to calm him and turned her shoulder to face them. “We’re with you,” she said, pointing to the Cavalcadium patch on her jacket.

            “And stealing from the castle?” The captain raised a brow and only lowered his weapon when he spied something behind them.

            “Cool your jets, the kid’s a dragon,” Jones barked as she approached them at a fast walk. “Under Kazooland law, if he wins a battle, he’s got a right to whatever he can carry. You lot head back where I came from, meet up with Echo Company. You’ve got investigators with you, right? Go check out the weapon, or, what’s left of it, anyway. I’ll be there in a bit.” The Captain saluted her and they filed past them and back toward the throne room. Jones then turned her attention to her friends. Her arm was in a makeshift sling but she looked no worse for the wear. She looked N’Gretty up and down and took in his ensemble. “What happened to your clothes? Wait. Ya know what? I don’t wanna know. You two head out and look for a ship headed for New Pieland.”

            Lilah nodded. “Georgia, what’s going to happen to him?”

            Jones smiled kindly. “Not entirely sure right now, but the council of nine will probably call some sort of tribunal. I’ll try to get on it. When you get to New Pie, stick around. I’ll meet up with you. Gretty, if you could give a deposition before you head out, it’d be really helpful.”

            “Give you what?” he asked with an apprehensive sneer and clutched his treasure tightly.

            “Testimony, er, I want you to tell the people who will decide what happens to Mort what you think of him. Especially that you gave him that potion.”

            “Will this help him?”

            “I’m sure of it.”

            N’Gretty pursed his lips in thought for a moment and glanced over at Lilah who had lifted her red-rimmed eyes from the floor and was staring at him. “I suppose. I will speak and then leave immediately.”

            “Sure, of course. Thanks!” Jones clapped her hands and noticed the case that Lilah held. She smirked and elbowed her lightly. “So you got some good stuff, too, huh?”

            This took the younger woman by surprise and she blushed. “Oh! Yes! I’ll tell you all about it later.”

            “You better! Hey, you gonna be ok?”

            Lilah nodded. “I’m tired, hungry, and both elated and devastated. But I’ll be ok.” She was surprised again when Jones gave her a tight one-armed hug and promised her that she would see what she could do to help Mortimer before jogging back down the hall.

            “She is also a _true man_ ,” N’Gretty stated. “Now, let us find a ship out of this terrible place. I will not go back through that _shitty_ entrance!”

            Lilah blinked at him and, remembering that Jones had taught him the curse word not a few hours before, she laughed as they walked out the front entrance into the stale Asininian air.


	17. Mortimer on Trial

Restrained with shackles on his wrists, Mortimer Becile was led from the throne room, surrounded by dozens of combined-forces soldiers. Georgia Jones watched him, only half-sure that he wouldn’t suffer abuse once out of her sight, then jogged off to find Lilah and N’Gretty.

He watched Jones go out of the corner of his eye and held onto the thought that the woman intended to protect him as he proceeded toward an unknown future. To his surprise, he met with no physical violence. There were sneers and some muttered verbal abuse for sure, but otherwise he was treated as a high-ranking prisoner-of-war against genteel societies ought to be treated. Emerging from the castle through the front gate he was taken aback at the scene of destruction all around him. Becile automatons lay scattered here and there and a few casualties on the other side were being attended to. Three airships waited for them, their propellers turning slowly and engines humming.

            “Right this way, Mr. Becile,” a lieutenant said and motioned for the four soldiers that surrounded Mortimer with weapons at the ready to proceed onto one of the ships. He glanced back once at the charred landscape of his birthplace and secretly wished never to see it again. Everyone he had grown up with had either fled or been killed by his brother. If his people had remained, Mortimer thought, perhaps he’d have a desire to help rebuild, but aside from wanting to help clean up the pollution that generations of his bloodline had produced, he had no love for Asininia. Instead, in looking over his shoulder, he hoped to glimpse his true love, but he was disappointed to see only soldiers.

            The airship was not a military vessel, merely a civilian airliner pressed into service, and accordingly there was no brig in which to hold him. Instead, he was directed to a banquette in the passenger section surrounded by the four men and women who had escorted him on board. They seated him against the window and asked that he keep his cuffed hands still for the duration of the voyage but did not otherwise restrain him. Mortimer relaxed into the plush leather bench seat, glanced out the window and did a double take as he saw the half-dragon and the love of his life march toward another waiting airship.

            Where were they going? Would they be taken to New Pieland as well? Would she be able to visit him? Would he ever see her again?

            This last thought made his stomach turn as she climbed the steps up to the ship, clutching the box of power cores tightly to her chest. Perhaps a swift judgment awaited him and he would be locked away in a prison cell for the rest of his days once more. If he had been a more hot-headed individual, this thought might have made him rebel and try to escape. Thanks to the beard covering most of his face he could put it in his hands and in moments his ability would persuade them to release him. Instead, the ever-calm Mortimer shuddered and forced himself to consider all possible outcomes. The same tact that kept him alive for seven years came in handy once again. He was a good man and they were reasonable people, not crazed despots. He would be exonerated and reunited with Delilah. The ship launched and in a short while rose above the dense, polluted smog layer that nearly always covered the island kingdom. Though positive-thinking was difficult to muster, the soft leather seat, pleasant temperature, and the sun on his skin helped put a small, hopeful smile on his lips.

            So lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t register the tension surrounding him. The four guards shifted in their seats. They believed, for all they knew, that they were guarding a lunatic who had tried to mass-murder the people of their respective countries. With his matted hair, greying, scraggly red beard, shredded clothes and pungent body odor Mortimer certainly fit the bill. He sighed and closed his eyes. Someone cleared their throat. He opened them, realized their awkwardness and straightened up in his seat. He tried to smile wanly to reassure them but just then his stomach growled loudly for a good three seconds. There was a beat of silence and the guards stared at him. Mortimer pursed his lips for a moment then burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all.

By the time they arrived in New Pieland, Mortimer had been fed, given a shave and a clean uniform to wear, and he and the guards were on a first-name basis.

 

.x.

            Not twenty-four hours later Mortimer sat in a modest room with a high ceiling in a courthouse in Biscuit Town, New Pieland. At eight in the morning, the Council of Nine had already gathered, eager to calm the citizens who were distressed at the idea of a Becile setting foot in their country. This military-styled court had a middle-aged ghost woman for the defense and a young satyr for the prosecution. The satyr would try to prove that Mortimer was to blame for developing and threatening to use a weapon of mass destruction and the ghost would attempt to prove that “Mortimer” was actually Eustace and therefore innocent. Before they could do anything but bring these points into the record, the doors burst open and N’Gretty strode in with a handful of clerks trying in vain to hold him back. “I have waited long enough. I shall give this tes-ti-mo-ny now!” he barked. He protected a pouch strapped to his chest containing his brother’s egg with one hand and shook his free fist.

            The satyr prosecutor ducked behind the bench and the ghost defender gestured to the witness stand. “Very well,” the president of the Council of Nine, an elderly bald man with green skin nodded (not wanting to provoke a half-dragon) and the ghost asked him to identify Mortimer Becile.

            Standing just in front of the stand, N’Gretty looked around, sniffed the air and raised a brow. “He’s right there,” he said and pointed to Mortimer. “Though, he looks different.”

            “How so?”

            “He had a beard and long hair and he stank more.”

            There was a chuckle from one of the Nine.

            The ghost picked up a piece of paper. “This is a photo taken of Mr. Becile, yesterday,” she said and held up Exhibit A: a photo taken just before he got on the airship appearing bedraggled and distraught. “And where did you meet him?”

            “In a dungeon in the castle.”

            “Where he was imprisoned. Was he in good health?”

            “Nearly dead.”

            The satyr raised a brow.

“Then how is it he is well today?”

“I gave him this,” N’Gretty lifted the half-empty bottle of magic elixir for them to see.

“A magic health restorative produced by and given only to real dragons?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why did you cure the man who stole your brother’s egg?’

            “First, I did not know it was him at the time, and two, he didn’t do it.”

            “How do you know that?”

            “He was almost dead. Been in prison for years. The other one did it.”

            “The other one?”

            “Short, weasel-looking, black hair, false arm. Dead now.”

            “Eustace Becile.”

            “Him. Can I go now?”

            “Soon.” The ghost woman smiled. “N’Gretty, what do you think of Mortimer Becile?”

            He stood a bit straighter and raised his chin. “He is a true man.”

            “Why is that?”

            “He gave up his life, his kingdom, and his happiness in order to do what is right.”

            “That will be all, thank you.”

            The prosecution declined to cross examine the witness, choosing to remain behind the bench until he was gone. N’Gretty snorted, crossed the room (no one dared tell him not to approach the prisoner) and with his free hand shook Mortimer’s. “Good luck,” he said quietly.

            “Thank you,” the former king whispered back.

 

When the room had calmed and reorganized the defense called its next witness.  As soon as she entered, Lilah’s eyes darted around the room until she saw him and when she did, relief washed visibly over her. She took the stand and stared hard at Mortimer with a strange, quivering smile on her lips. Like N’Gretty, she carried her precious cargo strapped to her chest with one arm resting on it as if she too were keeping an egg warm.

            The green-skinned president nodded to her. “Please state your name for the record.”

            “Delilah Moreau-Walter.” A murmur signaled surprise from some of the Nine. A few who had met her in Verk nodded.

            “How did you meet Mortimer Becile?”

            She continued to stare at him. “I helped him find the Cavalcadium’s Dandytown branch office when he was lost in the park in October of 1994.”

            The murmur was loud enough for the president to pound his gavel. Mortimer blinked at her, but the strange, intense look on her face gave him some reassurance that she wasn’t trying to get him killed. She went on to explain everything, holding only the most intimate details back, of how he’d tried to join the Cavalcadium, how he’d been discovered, that she hadn’t reported him because she was certain that he had only meant to make things better for everyone.

            “How can you be sure?” sneered the satyr prosecutor.

            She took a deep breath and smiled pleasantly. “Because I love him.”

            Mortimer sat stock still. The world seemed to fade away and all he could see was her. Then her image blurred and he was a little startled to find he was crying. His incorporeal defendant could not get him a tissue, so the tears fell freely from his cheeks onto the table in front of him. As she was dismissed, Lilah moved toward the door slowly, still staring at him as she went until she left the room.

 

.x.

 

**Thursday, July 24th, 2003**

            Lilah’s trip back to Verk was uneventful and she arrived at 15 Plum Street exhausted and a bundle of nerves. Using all of his strength, Gilmore simultaneously drew her a bath, began preparing her favorite comfort meal (Verkian hen and gravy with ojotubers and popgreens), and assisted her as she almost fell into the house. He made to take the box from around her neck, but Lilah held fast to it and looked up at her servant with a tired but beaming smile. “I rescued them, Gilmore,” she said. “I got them back.”

            “ _Them_ , Miss?”

            She glanced to the left at the door to the music room. “Our robots. I have their cores. They’re coming home.” Tears rolled down her face and Gilmore glowed nearly fuchsia with joy.

            “Oh, Miss! What wonderful news! And I believe there is more of that waiting for you. Your brother called, he has something quite amazing he wishes to tell you.”

            Lilah raised a brow. “Good news?” she asked. He nodded several times, barely able to contain the secret and made his mistress laugh. “I’ve had a pretty eventful week. Can it wait a while longer?”

            “Most certainly.” Gilmore unlaced her boots. The fuchsia glow dimming only slightly. “You need rest, Miss. A bath, some food, then sleep.”

            “Agreed!” she chimed and began to climb the stairs but stopped and turned to face him with pinched brows. “Oh, but if Georgia calls, put her through. I need to speak to her.”

            “Very good,” he bowed and dissipated to go check on dinner.

 

**Friday, July 25th, 2003, Earth**

            Peter Moreau-Walter felt his kantan vibrate in his pocket and hurriedly excused himself from an R&D meeting in the office wing of his massive family estate. He didn’t have to guess who was calling him. “Where are you?” he asked as the image of his sister congealed on the device’s screen.

            “Plum Street. Peter, I’m coming home.”

            He shook his head. “You just said you _were_ home.”

            Her image grinned to split her face. “No, I’m coming _home_. Drop everything you’re doing, get the Reed and head to the lab portal. I’ll be there in a second.”

            “A-a second! Lilah, what the hell’s going on?”

            “See you soon!” She closed the connection.

            Peter laughed and looked around, wondering where the cameras were and called “the Reed” on his wrist communicator.

 

**New Pieland**

            “Esteemed Councilmembers,” Georgia Jones began. She stood before their dais, grasped the lapels of her pin-striped suit jacket and did her best imitation of a lawyer. “Before you adjourn this court to render verdict, as the chairman of the formerly secret Asininia Monitoring Committee, I will present to you the following observation.” She took slow, deliberately wandering steps as she spoke. “As Miss Moreau-Walter informed us, Mortimer Becile had infiltrated the Cavalcadium almost nine years ago! I firmly believe that if our committee had made her aware of its existence, she would certainly have let us know. Instead, she was of the mind that the Cavalcadium simply wished to forget that the Beciles had ever existed, just as she and her family did. As she informed us, learning her dear Morton’s true identity was traumatic! Easy to understand given all the Beciles have done to the Moreau-Walters through the decades. However, Miss Moreau-Walter also admitted that she loves Mortimer Becile, still!” Jones turned and gave him a sly smirk to which he blushed slightly. “And other witnesses this week have confirmed that he isn’t like the rest of his ilk.”

            Jones paced a little quicker to the dais and pulled something from the pocket of her jacket. “I would like the council to examine these,” she said and held them forward. A smallish fawn-woman took a pair of handcuffs from her and passed them along to the others. “Cold Iron Cuffs. They do no harm, but as the council surely knows they limit various fey, magic, and _mime_ abilities.”

Mortimer took a deep breath as he realized what she was about to do. When the cuffs had passed through all nine hands she took them back and crossed to Mortimer. “Mr. Becile, the cuffs you are currently wearing are steel, is that correct?”

“Yes, Miss Jones.”

“Would you be so kind as to put these on?”

“Of course,” he said and held his hands out for her to attach the large, dark grey metal cuffs to his already restricted wrists.

“And, Mr. Becile, would you tell us why someone should want to cuff you this way?”

He nodded and the color fell from his face. Nearly everyone in the court gasped and loud murmuring had to be suppressed with the gavel.

“As you can see, Mortimer Becile is a half-mime! His late mother having been a mime courtesan called Yue-bing. He is gifted with the Power of Influence - one of the most powerful of the varied Mime abilities, limited here by the cold iron cuffs. At any point from the moment he surrendered, Mortimer Becile could have walked right out of this courtroom and there would have been nothing anyone could have done to stop him! But!” Jones turned to face the dais again. “He stayed. Why? Because Mortimer is a good man and he did not do what he is accused of and he knows it.” Jones grinned as she noted the positive change in the councilmembers’ posture. “As do I.”


	18. Love & Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! DONE! Holy cow. I hope you liked it!  
> You may wish to read “Run and Go With It” for how the story about how a certain someone comes back into the story before you read this, though it’s not necessary to enjoy this story.

**Friday, July 25th, 2003, Earth**

It took Peter about 15 minutes to run to the basement portal (while trying not to rouse suspicion) and when he arrived, he didn’t immediately see his sister. “I’m in here, Pete!” her voice called from the open door of the vault. “Pete, where’s Hatchworth?” she asked as he rounded the corner. In the vault were four stations for long-term blue-matter-powered automaton storage or “LBS” units. Three were occupied, but the fourth stood vacant. Lilah gestured to Hatchworth’s empty LBS with one hand and cradled a bag slung over her shoulder with the other.

            “That was my surprise,” he grumbled. “Didn’t you get the message?”

            “The message…?” she looked at him, puzzled for a moment. “Oh! I forgot to call you back!” She laughed. “Wait, you don’t mean…?”

            He didn’t have to answer. Tell-tale, heavy, plodding footsteps and the escape of steam sounded from the doorway to the secret lab followed by quick soft thudding human steps. “Pete?” a young man’s voice called.

            “Over here, Mike!” Peter replied.

A bronze automaton wearing a top hat and three-piece suit lumbered around the corner chased by a pudgy teenaged boy. The robot lurched to a stop and the boy panted as he slowed his steps. “What’s going on, Pete? Hatchy got all worked up right after you buzzed me and…”

“Pappy?” The barrel-chested robot asked. His orange mustache twitched twice.

Lilah stepped forward and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I get that a lot,” she said and stared at the automaton. “This was your surprise, Pete?”

Her brother nodded. “Long story. He’s as fit as the day he was first ignited.”

Lilah’s eyes glistened as she stuck out her hand. “I’m Delilah Moreau-Walter, Pete’s elder sister and I’m overjoyed to meet you!” His blue photoreceptors danced from her to the vault behind her and the other three LBS units. “Oh!” she cried. “Oh it must have been so hard for you to wake up to this!” To his obvious surprise, Lilah embraced him quickly and tightly then held his face in her hand. “You poor boy. But I have a surprise of my own.” Lilah pulled the pouch over her shoulder forward and opened it with clumsy, excited fingers to reveal three blue glowing orbs. The three men made astonished sounds, knowing full well what she had found. She looked up at them and grinned again. “Hatchworth, Mr. Reed, Pete? Would you help me bring these three chassis to the ignition stations please?”

 

Peter sent Michael Reed to lock down the lab, preventing either Alex, Deelia, or Peter’s wife Astrid from disturbing their work. Hatchworth and Peter lifted the heavy automatons on to the examination tables and the three humans opened their chest compartments and core housing. Michael Reed’s eyes widened as Lilah lifted the lid on the chest of cores again. “How do we know which one is which?”

Peter nodded to his sister. “We’re blue matter-acclimated from birth. It sort of sings to us. They’ll tell us who’s who.”

“Precisely,” Lilah agreed, hovered a hand over the first orb and a E-note emanated from it, soft and clear and low. “Spine,” she whispered and moved her hand. The second orb rang with a major third higher. “Jon,” she said. Lastly, an E major fifth higher than Jon, forming a major chord. “Rabbit,” she sighed. With protective gloves, the three humans carried the cores to their respective robots and gently placed them in their housing. Peter stood at the controls and Hatchworth got the honor of igniting their circuits. Once he had flipped the switch back, Peter rejoined Michael Reed and Lilah at the now puffing chassis. “Ready?” he asked. They placed their hands over each of their dual start-buttons and when Peter counted down from three, pressed them and stepped away as their photoreceptors flickered to life.

At first, the robots were speechless, blinking at the three humans before them in wonder. The Spine cocked his head to one side, Rabbit’s mouth hung open a little and his metal brows arched as if he wanted to ask a question. The Jon broke the tension by shouting as he caught sight of their old friend standing off to the left. “Hatchy!!” he cried, leapt off the table and completed three pirouettes on his way to tackle-hug the bronze robot.

“Hatchy?” The Spine’s head snapped to the left.

“Hatchy!” Rabbit shouted and scrambled over the Spine to join The Jon in the hug.

Delilah Moreau-Walter smiled through her tears as she watched the four of them greet each other. As Rabbit and The Jon did a ring-around-the-rosey around Hatchworth, Rabbit looked up and saw the humans and remembered that he had a question to ask. He grabbed The Spine and swapped places with him (The Spine was not amused, but went along with it, for Hatchy’s sake, he said). Rabbit skipped over to the woman with the greying blue-black hair and stopped a pace in front of her. “Miss Lilah?” he asked. She nodded. “Your hair…” he said, reached out and gently twisted a lock between his fingers. “How long has it been?”

“Twelve years,” she whispered.

The Jon stopped skipping around and whimpered softly. Hatchworth’s machinations hissed as he shrugged. “Not so long. Try sixty-five years, fellows.”

The Spine pursed his lips. “Hatchy’s right, guys. It must have been quite a lonely time while he was…”

The bronze robot hissed again and cut The Spine off. “I was shut down, so the loss of time was felt only on waking and finding that everyone I ever knew was _dead_.” The stumbling rhythm of his speech pattern gave his dark words a strange, black-comedic effect.

The Jon craned his head back until his chin was pressed tightly to his neck and gave him a haughty look. “So you didn’t have to wait. Like we did. Waiting. Wondering.” He raised a brow at him, but his pose quickly changed as he spied something new.

Peter took a step forward to assert his presence. “Wait a second, even without your bodies, you three could discern the passage of time?” The Jon’s feet scuffled as he glided around The Spine to stand closer to Lilah, who had pulled her kantan out, flipped it open to check for messages, then pocketed it again.

“And that we were together,” The Spine added quickly, afraid to be cut off again. “Helped a lot.”

Lilah blinked at The Jon as he moved to stand almost nose-to-nose with her. “ _Someone_ joined the Cavalcadium!” he chimed. “Someone went to _Kazooland_!” His brows waggled at her and he smirked knowingly.

Lilah’s eyes widened and she smiled back at him. “Pete’s a member, too. And yes, I went. I…” A memory of the three robots sitting on her bed as she wept uncontrollably flooded back. Her fever dream was real. They were conscious and crossed space and time to help her in her moment of need. “I went to Kazooland, Jon. I live in Dandytown, now. Thank you!” Lilah told him with a wink that his secret portal to his favorite place remained a secret.

“Oh! Is Gilmore still there?” Hatchworth asked, enthusiastically waving his hands. She nodded. “Then there are now four people who remember me.”

“He’s so excited to see all of you! You have to come over, soon!” Before The Jon could head for the rift entrance, Lilah added, “I’m too exhausted to entertain right now. I’ll need a good night’s sleep first. Come tomorrow.” She put her hand in her pocket and touched her kantan again.

“Speaking of remembering people,” The Spine said, shifting his weight from one leg to another as he often did. “There’s someone here I don’t remember.” He tipped his hat at the teenager standing a short distance away. “How do you do? I’m The Spine,” he greeted the newcomer.

“Hi!” the boy piped up. “I’m Michael Reed! I’m so excited to get to work with you!”

“A new Reed!” The Jon chimed. “What happened to Patrick? Did Hatchy eat him?”

Peter laughed. “No, Jon, he got married a few years ago and retired. This is his nephew.”

Jon swiveled over to him and eyed him closely. “Do you _play_?”

“Of course!”

The Jon grinned wide. “Good. Very important thing for a Reed to do.”

Reed nodded and looked to all four robots, but his brows came together as he noticed that one of them was quiet and stood with slumped shoulders, staring at Lilah. “Rabbit, are you alright?”

“I… r-r-r-remember…” he said, stuttering. The Spine and The Jon shifted and hissed. “We were at the show and…”

“Rabbit,” Lilah said, taking his hands in hers. “It’s ok. I don’t know yet what’s going to happen, but…”

Her words weren’t reaching him. “I did it again, didn’t I? Oh no!”

“Did what?”

The Spine raised a hand and hissed loudly as his gears turned. “Now, Rabbit, we did what we had to do.”

“We protected oursellllves,” The Jon added, drawing out the word.

Realizing what it was they were talking about, Lilah clasped Rabbit’s face in her hands and forced him to look at her. “Rabbit. You are _not_ guilty.”

“I took a life, didn’t I?” he cried.

“Rabbit!” she shouted. “You guys did what you had to do and you saved the lives of thousands of people in New Pieland!” The Jon gasped at the mention of his home-away-from-home. “Cedric Becile took you from us. He was going to use your cores to power a death ray to attack New Pieland. Your actions prevented that from happening and no one, not even his own kin, mourned his loss!” She could tell by the way his body shifted that her words had hit their mark and eased his guilt a little as he cried oil tears and puffed a large cloud of steam. “If you need Dad to help, I know he’s modified your memories in the past, he can do it again.”

Michael Reed leaned over and whispered to Peter. “Dr. Moreau-Walter’s done that to them before?”

Peter nodded. “After Viet Nam. Dad said he alleviated some of their PTSD because they were in rough shape. I don’t know if anyone did anything about the 1950 incident. Seems not, if they remember it so well.”

The Spine patted Rabbit on the back. “That’s right, Michael, he did. Not too much, though. Even if our memories hurt, they make us more _human_.”

The atmosphere in the basement room was heavy as Rabbit’s sobbing petered out. As was his role, The Jon sprang into action and changed the subject. “Oh! I’m going to go find Alex! He’ll be so surprised!” he shouted and sprinted for the door.

The Spine sighed. “I’ll, uh… I’ll go keep an eye on him,” he said and followed, secretly wanting to see the look on Alex’s face.

“Right behind you, friend!” Hatchworth chimed and tailed him.

Peter sighed too. “Mike, keep an eye on them, please?” Michael saluted, said it was nice to meet Lilah, and chased them through the now open door. “Lilah, I know you said you’re too tired today, but…”

She took her kantan out of her pocket again. “I’ll come back, Pete. When the dust is settled I’ll explain everything to everyone.” She waved the communications device. “Hopefully soon.”

Peter nodded, welcomed Rabbit back again and jogged to catch up with the others. Rabbit waved and gave a small smile. Lilah found a shop rag and wiped the oil from his face in a rather motherly fashion. “You three will need a good servicing. Don’t wait too long. Do it tonight if you can. Who knows what kind of spiders and junk are clogging up your gears.”

“Thank you, Miss Lilah,” he said softly.

She pursed her lips and her eyes teared up again. “I missed you so much! Ah, sorry. I haven’t had much sleep and I’ve been so anxious for the last few days…” The watch-like device in her hand chirped like a bird and vibrated a little and both woman and automaton jumped at the sound. Lilah fumbled with the cover and practically shouted at the operator to put Georgia Jones through. The brunette’s face resolved itself on the tiny monitor and Rabbit stepped behind Lilah so that he could see her as well.

“Well, I was gonna ask if you got your robots back online, but I guess I don’t have to! Hi there!” she waved to Rabbit and the robot waved back.

“Georgia! News!” Lilah pleaded with her friend.

“Oh, right.” The woman’s face fell and she lowered her chin slightly. “Can you be at the sky port in an hour?”

“I…” Lilah stammered, distraught. “I can, yes, oh, Georgia please, tell me now!”

Jones’ mouth contorted and she rolled her eyes. “Damn it, I was gonna try to surprise you, but not with those puppy dog eyes, I can’t! Hell with it. Here,” she said and the screen blurred as she pointed her kantan elsewhere. “ _You_ tell her.”

It resolved again on a bright-eyed, clean-shaven man’s face. His reddish-brown hair was cut just below his chin and slicked back, revealing a slightly receding hairline. He was obviously unprepared and the image jostled a few times before settling. “Delilah,” he said.

“Morton!” She covered her mouth with her hand in shock and tears poured down her face. For a moment, neither had words.

“I suppose I’ll see you shortly,” he said, smiling from ear to ear. After a long pause in which all Lilah could do was nod and sniffle, Jones took her kantan back.

“Ok, ok,” she groaned. “You can gawk at each other all you want later. See you in an hour!” Jones said and closed the connection.

Lilah laughed, astonished and elated. “Oh my… Oh!” she stammered. “I’ve, er, I’ve got to, oh. I’ve got to go. He’s… He’s free? He’s free!!” Lilah turned to her automaton friend and beamed at him and the effect was contagious.

“Happy news!” he chimed.

“Yes! For everyone! You included! I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Oh, Rabbit!” she threw her arms around him and hugged his warm copper body tightly.

He nodded and grinned. “See you tomorrow.”

 

.x.

**Dandytown**

            Lilah charged back through the private rift into 15 Plum Street calling for her family’s spectral servant. He materialized instantly and seeing the redness around her eyes, anxiously asked how she had fared with the power core restoration. Lilah motioned for him to follow her as she charged up the four flights of stairs between the basement and her room, explaining to him as she went that the robots were back online and coming to visit tomorrow. He would have to get the music room ready. The room had remained closed after Lilah’s one-and-only time in it twelve years ago. He would need to dust it quite a bit, but he assured her it would be a simple task. She stopped at the top of the landing on the second floor and stood between her room, which had been Delilah Moreau’s room on the left and “Colonel Walter’s Room” on the right. Her brother and his wife used this as a guest room on the few occasions they stayed over (Astrid was not very comfortable in Kazooland, so this was less often than Peter would have liked), so it was open and ready to receive them. Lilah blushed and asked Gilmore to make it ready for an extended guest and asked him if he remembered Mr. Greene.

            The few times that Morton Greene had visited 15 Plum Street, he had seemed a bit uncomfortable, it seemed to Gilmore. And the last he’d ever heard the man’s name was immediately after he’d broken his mistress’s heart. The ghost frowned slightly, but agreed that he did remember him. Lilah entered her own room and began rifling through her closets for something nice to wear and told him briefly about who Mr. Greene really was and how much he meant to her. Gilmore went quiet and after she had talked about her love for Mortimer Becile for a few minutes uninterrupted, Lilah poked her head out of her wardrobe and laughed to see Gilmore had turned from his usual sepia tone to a very light, sweet shade of pink. After she had dressed in an ensemble of a long, pale grey linen skirt and white cotton blouse with cute white felt cloche hat with grey ribbon, she hurried down the stairs, Gilmore saw her off into a Hansom to the Cavalcadium.

 

.x.

            The sky port at the Cavalcadium was the busiest in Dandytown and unlike some of the buildings in its campus, it was open to the public. It looked not unlike the lovechild of a 19th century European train station and a proper 20th century Earth-style airport. Elegant glass-paned walls and ceilings made the ticketing and waiting rooms bright and airy. Behind this was the concourse of five dirigible landing pads and two propulsion craft runways (rarely used). Lilah walked briskly through the foyer, glancing at the timetables as she went. The flight from New Pieland was to arrive shortly on Pad Three. The station was bustling as usual, but the din grew louder as she approached the pad. A crowd had gathered at the gate. The gates were all the same, plush lounges with leather chairs and a dais for the airline staff to announce the status of each flight. A harried-looking man with silver hair in an airline uniform did his best to be heard over the chattering mass of people pressed close to the gate door in a disorderly fashion. As Lilah approached, the door swung open, forcefully pushing several people back. A pair of Cavalcadium security agents in crisp, white uniforms barked at the group to stand away from the door and get behind a velvet rope or they would be removed from the gate entirely. The two were a good seven feet tall and could have taken any American football team to a championship. The crowd grumbled, but did as it was told. The two flanked the doorway and folded their arms, waiting and watching for anyone to step out of line. Lilah squared her jaw and started pushing her way toward the velvet rope.

            There was much protestation from several people she shouldered out of the way as she tried to move forward, until someone recognized her from the society pages and called out her name. Suddenly, the tone of the crowd changed and a dozen voices around her clamored for her attention.

            “Miss Moreau-Walter, is it a relief to know…?”

            “...now that the Beciles have been defeated, how do you…?”

            “What are your fears about the…?”

            “Are you afraid of Mortimer Becile?”

            “...any opinion about the tyrant of Asininia being brought here?”

            “...and the evil Becile family…?”

            The blood fell from her face as she realized that she was surrounded not by interested citizens, but by members of the Cavalcadium press corps. They were not her favorite people. When she dated “Morton Greene” they hounded them at every public appearance thanks to her famous surname. Now, his name had drawn their attention. Soon, their words would go to press and the fear they generated would make Mortimer Becile’s life very difficult. He had been through enough, she thought, lowered her chin and made up her mind.

            “You want a story?” she shouted. “Let me up front.”

            The reporters quieted and parted, allowing her to pass freely to the velvet rope that stood between them and the gate door. Soon the murmurs began again and flashbulbs crackled around her in anticipation. Lilah clung to the soft, blue rope and tried fairly successfully not to show her anxiety, masking it with a tight frown and white clenched knuckles. Shortly, the man on the dais announced the flight’s arrival, the door opened, and returning soldiers began to stream in to the gate’s waiting area. They were all surprised to see the reporters, but their discipline prevented them from stopping to talk to them as they filed past. Lilah craned her neck and soon spotted Georgia Jones in a crisp, white suit and white fedora whose eyes lit up when she saw her friend. Jones bounded over to the rope, lifted it and pulled Lilah into a hug, clapping her on the back. Lilah whispered her thanks to her good friend in a voice cracking with emotion. Jones grinned and said that they three of them should get together for drinks soon before saluting her and casually walking away with the troops. When Lilah turned back to the doorway, she saw him. He was shaking the hands of some high-ranking officials who he had befriended on the flight. He caught sight of her and excused himself, taking long strides toward her. Flash bulbs illuminated the scene like a strobe light. Lilah stood stock still but stretched her arms out wide and embraced him tightly. The press corps oohed and ahed as the narrative shifted. Some flipped open kantans and scrambled to report back to their papers, some tried in vain to get a comment from Mr. Becile and Miss Moreau-Walter, but they were too busy kissing to pay anyone any mind.

            Mortimer chuckled nervously when he realized that they would surely be the headline of every newspaper in Kazooland and Lilah blushed. “Come on,” she said, taking his hand. “Let’s go home.”

 

**Saturday, July 26th, 2003, 15 Plum St.**

Soft sunlight warmed the dining room and from the northern corner of the room came the quiet strains of a concerto on the Victrola as Gilmore put the needle on the record. Delilah Moreau-Walter thanked him and sat down to breakfast across from the love of her life. Mortimer took a deep breath and shook his head lightly at his plate of sausage, eggs and fruit.

“Is everything to your liking, Sir?” Gilmore asked.

“Oh, yes! Yes indeed!” he replied. “You’ll have to bear with me, Gilmore. I still quite feel as though I am in heaven or a dream and not reality!”

The family servant blushed purple with pride for a moment then suddenly cleared his throat, softly. He grinned, shimmered a little and bounced slightly in the air. “Excuse me, Miss, Sir. The robots have arrived.”

            “The robots…?” Lilah asked, not immediately finding a proper spot in her brain to house such a statement. “HOLY COW THAT’S TODAY!” she shouted, threw down her napkin which tipped her plate and catapulted her fork and spoon flying. “Where are they?”

            Gilmore shifted instantly five feet to the left and deftly caught the cutlery. “They just came through the rift in the basement. I will stall them,” he said and dematerialized.

            “Great! Thanks, Gilmore. Morton, uh… ohmygod.” Lilah started toward the stairs and hurried back to Mortimer then ran her hands through her hair. “I’m sorry to spring this on you. The robots are here. Um. Ah…”

            He took a deep breath. “This is quite sudden, but, no need to panic.” Opening his arms he smiled gently. “They will either accept me or they won’t. The timing is irrelevant.”

            She stopped flailing and took in how serenely Mortimer presented himself to her and it calmed her. She stepped into his arms and hugged him. “Well, we’re dressed and presentable. So that’s good.” The floorboards vibrated under their feet as the sound of a commotion filtered into the dining room. “That’s them. It’s going to be pretty boisterous in here for a few days,” she said as she led him to the door.

He grinned. “That sounds _wonderful!_ ”

.x.

Gilmore had ushered the four automatons from the first level of the basement (where the family’s personal rift was located) into the music room. As Lilah entered the room alone they were scattered around, touching their old instruments and gawking at black-and-white photos of themselves from decades past hanging on walls and propped on nearly every surface. The din of their chatter was shockingly loud in comparison to the usual peace and quiet of the townhouse. Rabbit was the first to notice her standing there.

“Miss Lilah!” he crowed. “We made it!”

“Welcome back!” she beamed; the joy of seeing them fill the room was hard to hide. “I’m so glad to see you again!” Lilah hugged each one of them in turn then stepped back and bit her lip. “There’s something I have to tell you.

 “Is ev-v-verything ok?” Rabbit asked, nervously.

            The four robots’ attention snapped to a movement in the doorway as Mortimer stepped into view. “Everything is fine,” he said smoothly and stood at Lilah’s side. He touched her elbow as if to say ‘I’m sorry, I just had to get this over with’.

            “Well, hey! You’re the guy from Miss Lilah’s kantan! Hi there!” Rabbit chimed and waved.

            “Ah… hahahaha…” Lilah laughed, weakly. She raised her hand and indicated to each of her friends. “Hatchworth, The Jon, The Spine, Rabbit… this is Mortimer Becile. He, uh. He lives here, now. With me. In the house.” Her eyes darted to each robot to gauge their reactions and under her breath she added “He’s staying in Colonel Walter’s room, actually.”

            “He’s staying in Pappy’s room?” The Spine repeated grimly, asking for verification of an unbelievable fact, brow raised and back straight as he stared Mortimer down. No one moved. Rabbit’s face fell and he folded his previously open arms. The Jon scooted behind Hatchworth who puffed a cloud of steam nervously.

            “I am. I have lost everything and I am beyond grateful to Miss Moreau-Walter for her generosity and compassion. In fact, I must confess that I love her quite dearly and have for many years, now. I am sorry if that upsets you.”

The Jon poked his head over Hatchworth’s shoulder, raised his chin slightly and looked up at Lilah who was blushing very hard. “So, it’s over?” he asked quietly.

“...Over?” she asked, puzzled.

Rabbit’s gears turned sharply. “You’re the _last_ Becile, right?” he asked curtly.

“I am,” Mortimer answered.

“And you love our Miss Lilah?”

“I do. With all my heart. And I wish never to be separated from her again.”

The copper robot’s eyebrows arched, he grinned, and steam escaped into the air as he relaxed at last. “Then, yeah, Jon. It’s over.”

“Oh, what a relief!” Hatchworth exclaimed.

“Say, that’s great news!” The Spine agreed.

The Jon squealed in delight, ran up and hugged Lilah. He released her and stared at Mortimer who stared back, apprehensively, but smiled on the gold automaton. With silent permission granted, he too was embraced in a tight, robot hug.

 

.x.

**Six Months Later – Sunday, January 5 th, 2004, Balboa Park, San Diego, CA**

            Alex uncrossed his legs and crossed them in the other direction then fanned the Union-Tribune he was reading back open again. He sat on a blue and white tiled bench in the Alcazar garden. Behind him, an expanse of bright blue foxgloves reached for the clear blue sky. He wore a jaunty straw hat to keep the sun from his fairly bald head and thick-rimmed Ray Ban sunglasses. He was dressed in tan shorts, brown Birkenstocks and a plaid, short-sleeved button down shirt. Alex checked his watch and scanned the area again. “About time,” he grumbled as he spied the man he was meeting approaching from the west, probably having entered from El Prado. Folding his newspaper, Alex lifted his chin and scoffed.

            The man approaching wore black oxford shoes, a three-piece suit of dark green and a black fedora. He was tall, clean-shaven and walked in a quick, but confident gait. One side of his mouth curled as he saw Alex fold the paper and he extended his hand in greeting. “Dr. Moreau-Walter,” the man said.

            He remained seated. “Mr. Becile,” Alex breathed and shook his hand. Firm grip, not too hard, one shake. “What is it that you wish to discuss that made you so intent on meeting me in person?”

            “Discuss…?” Mortimer asked, taken aback, but not surprised by his manner. Peter had warned him of it repeatedly, including just moments ago in the car in which the two men drove to the park from the Cavalcadium San Diego branch office.

            “I suppose you’re here to ask for my daughter’s hand in marriage?”

            “No, Sir,” he said quickly. Alex didn’t hide his surprise. He quirked a brow. “No, Delilah is no more your possession that she is mine, regardless of our feelings for her.”

            “Smooth,” Alex said and deigned to stand up. He stretched his back a little and nodded his head, indicating that he wanted Mortimer to walk with him. “Tell me, Mr. Becile, does my daughter know you are here?”

            “No, Sir.”

            “Mm. Thought as much. Why have you come then?”

            “I intend to ask Delilah to marry me, and I wanted you to be aware of that. I also thought it best that I meet you, and you me.”

            “And if I had refused?”

            “So be it. I love her and if she will have me, we will wed.”

            “You’re already living in the house, what’s it matter?”

            “I’m not sure I understand.”

            Alex stopped walking and looked Mortimer in the eye. “What is it you hope to gain by marrying my daughter, Mr. Becile?”

            “What anyone does, I suppose. Security, happiness… peace?”

            “Peace?”

            “Yes,” Mortimer said. “I am the last of my line. I feel that when we are wed, the end of our families’ hostilities will be cemented, as it were.”

            Alex stared at him for a beat before crossing to another bench and motioning for Mortimer to sit beside him. He put his hands just behind him and leaned back a little. “What do you know about Bertram Becile?”

            Mortimer raised a brow. “My grandfather’s brother. He drowned at a young age.”

            Alex leaned forward, removed his Ray Bans and cleaned them with the corner of his shirt. “Do you know why?” Mortimer shook his head. “He took his own life. As did my father’s sister, my Aunt Katie. She met Bertram in the ‘40s in Dandytown before the Beciles got run out of there as well. They attended the same social functions is how I understand it and as young teenagers they fell in love.”

            Mortimer sat up straighter and, though the January day was not overly hot, he flushed and adjusted his tie. “You don’t say?”

            “I do. Bertram and Katie communicated frequently and decided that they would elope. She was fifteen years old, he a few years older, but still young enough to behave irrationally. They met up one night on the sea near Hawai’i and planned to escape their minders, but were trapped and chose the deep rather than be separated. Our automatons could do nothing but watch as they disappeared into the dark water.”

            “I had no idea.”

            “I believe that only they and I know the truth. Rabbit was so troubled by scene that years later to he asked me remove the memory from his mind.” Alex held his sunglasses in his hands. “Rabbit wondered if his “Pappy” marrying Delilah Moreau wasn’t a huge mistake. He said that their marriage wasn’t a happy one and had caused nothing but trouble for both clans.”

            “Do you believe that?” Mortimer asked.

            “I don’t know. All families are fraught with drama, pain and heart-ache. Perhaps ours a bit more so, but I can’t say for sure.” Alex watched some small white clouds move slowly across the sky just above the green hedge wall of the garden and let out a slow breath. “I hope you are right, Mortimer. I do hope your union brings us all peace at last.”

            Mortimer did the same. “I know it will, Sir.”

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

The three singing automatons started to perform again in San Diego's Balboa Park in the late 1980’s, and as they approached their 100th birthday, they were signed to a popular independent record label, finding popularity in the new “alternative” music scene. In 1991 they played their first show to a large audience in Los Angeles at the ill-fated Lollapalooza festival where they were attacked and destroyed by unknown assailants. Shortly after this, then Vice-President Delilah Moreau-Walter resigned and dropped out of public view.

Eliza Overbaugh Moreau-Walter was committed to the San Diego Sanitarium in 1995. In 1996, her son Peter IV married bio-chemist Astrid Ahn and later had two children, Peter A Moreau-Walter V (2004) and Liza Ahn Moreau-Walter (2005).

In 2004, the Steam Man Band was restored as a four-piece and reintroduced to small success. They may be found most weekends in decent weather playing with their “human” (Michael P Reed, 17) in Balboa Park.

Today, Peter A Moreau-Walter III remains president, but is close to retirement. His first daughter, Delilah Moreau-Walter married the last living member of the Becile family, Mortimer Ignatius Becile (born 26 Nov 1969, son of Cedric Thaddeus Becile and the mime Yue Bing) in 2005 and they reside in Dandytown, Verk, Kazooland where they are both active members of the Cavalcadium. His son Peter A Moreau Walter IV is set to take his father’s place, and his daughter Deelia Moreau-Walter is the current Vice President of Moreau-Walter Amalgamated, the corporation which continues to this day to bring the most astonishing prosthetic limbs, replica organs and health-monitoring devices to the global market.


End file.
